Stray Fereldan Warhound
by Selkit
Summary: The Blight and its aftermath may bring people together, but whether it keeps them together is another story…especially when one of them is a human ex-noble and the other is a human-hating elf. Nathaniel/Velanna.
1. Insomnia

**A/N:** This fic will be a collection of snippets depicting the progression of Nathaniel and Velanna's relationship rather than featuring one continuous plot. Epic lengthy plots are sadly not my strong point.

A word of explanation on the title: after unsuccessfully wracking my brain trying to come up with a name for this fic, I turned to my iTunes for inspiration, and one of the songs that popped up was "Stray Italian Greyhound" by Vienna Teng. The song itself is far too peppy and upbeat to really be appropriate for Nate/Velanna, but the overaching message—about a jaded cynic suddenly confronted with something _good_—seems to fit my perception of the pairing. So I shamelessly altered the title for my own purposes.

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><p>"My lady?"<p>

Nathaniel peered down at the elf seated on a tree stump, his eyebrows furrowing at her uncharacteristic lack of response. Velanna's legs were drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped loosely around her shins and her forehead resting on her knees. Little was visible other than her upswept blond hair, her face hidden by several locks that had pulled loose from the carefully twisted knot.

Nathaniel lowered himself to one knee, extending a hand to gently shake her shoulder. "Wake up, Velanna."

"Hmm?" She raised her head slowly, expression bleary, and Nathaniel caught a glimpse of dark smudges beneath her eyes before she jerked back, a sharp inhalation hissing between clenched teeth.

"I was just resting," she said, instantly defensive, and waved off Nathaniel's proffered hand as she pulled herself to her feet. "Are we moving out already?"

Nathaniel nodded toward the head of their small party, where the Warden-Commander was gathering up the last of the supplies. "It was a fifteen-minute rest, as usual."

"Hmph." Velanna shouldered her staff, her lips downturned in a scowl, and one hand stole up to rub at her eyes. She blinked several times, shaking her head in a slight jerking motion reminiscent of a waterlogged mabari. Nathaniel pushed the mental image away, suspecting that to voice it would land him on the receiving end of an unpleasant spell.

"Are you feeling well, my lady?" he asked instead, falling into step next to her as they followed the Warden-Commander back to the road. "You seem rather tired."

"Your powers of observation border on legendary," she scoffed, then trailed off into a sigh. "I just…haven't been sleeping well lately, that's all. It's nothing serious."

"Are you having nightmares?" Nathaniel guessed, sidestepping a root protruding into the middle of the pathway.

He saw her head whip around in his peripheral vision, and he looked over to meet her narrowed eyes. "How did you know that?" she demanded, her voice rising a little in suspicion.

"All Grey Wardens have them, as I understand it," he replied. "Dark, shadowy dreams filled with chaos and darkspawn."

"I—oh." Velanna blinked again and looked away, reaching up to rub at the back of her neck. "I thought I was only having them because of…what's happened to Seranni."

Nathaniel shook his head. "I have them as well. I believe even the Commander still experiences them on occasion."

"I see." Velanna's frown returned, her mouth tightening into an indignant line. "Well, it certainly would have been nice if someone had _told_ me about these side effects before I joined the organization." Then her expression softened a little, growing pensive. "On the other hand, I suppose I did rather rush into things. I was so focused on rescuing Seranni that I gave no thought to any consequences."

"You're more concerned for your sister's safety than your own," Nathaniel pointed out. "That is an admirable trait."

"I…suppose." Velanna furrowed her brows, as though the thought had not occurred to her before. "Or maybe just foolhardy and self-destructive."

"Well, look at it this way," Nathaniel said. "At least you chose to join the Grey Wardens. I was conscripted into the order against my will. I even asked the Commander to hang me instead."

He could practically hear Velanna's eyebrows climb her forehead as her head swiveled sharply toward him. "Really? You wanted to die?"

"I'd lost my family, my good name, and my property, and was about to be forced into the order responsible for killing my father." Nathaniel's eyes drifted down the path as he relived the memory. "At the time, it seemed a preferable option."

Velanna was silent a moment before she looked back at him, her expression inscrutable. "But…you don't still want that, do you?"

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"I ask only because I don't want someone with a death wish watching my back in a fight," she added hastily, raising her chin.

Nathaniel suppressed a smile. "Well, when you put it that way, my lady…no, I don't still wish I'd been hanged. I would never have dreamed this would happen, but in a way, it's like the Wardens—all of you in our little band—have become my new family."

Velanna gazed at him, a little wrinkle between her eyebrows. "All of us? Truly?"

"Well." He let a wry smile cross his face. "Except maybe Anders."

He was momentarily surprised by her peal of laughter, realizing it was the first time he'd ever heard the sound.

It was more pleasant than he might have expected.

The flow of conversation ceased, replaced by the scuffle of footsteps along the road, the occasional rush of wind stirring the trees, and snatches of tuneless humming from Anders' direction. To Nathaniel's mild surprise, Velanna seemed content to continue walking alongside him, rather than picking her own trail a short distance from the party as she normally did.

"Do you have the nightmares often?" she asked suddenly, shooting a glance at him before staring straight ahead down the pathway. Lines of tension ran through her shoulders, and her hands twisted together in front of her before she returned them stiffly to her sides.

"Less often than I did when I first joined," he replied, keeping his voice soft. "I don't believe they ever disappear entirely, but they will fade in time."

Her sigh of relief was barely audible. "Good."

She met his gaze, and for a brief moment her lips parted as though she wanted to say more, but then she steeled her jaw, giving him a brisk nod before lengthening her stride.

Nathaniel watched her step down the path, her shoulders straight and her head held high, and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.


	2. Portrait of a Nose

Returning home was proving to be more difficult than Nathaniel had anticipated.

It was hard not to feel like an unwanted guest as he wandered through the Keep's rooms and hallways, retracing steps from long-buried memories. Though the layout of the house remained the same, it seemed as though all else he remembered had been changed, remodeled, or stripped away altogether. His father's study was sealed off behind a sturdy lock, and his childhood bedroom was now a storage closet, the cheerful wall hangings and miniature bookcase replaced by haphazard stacks of wooden crates.

Worse still were the stares he received from the Keep's new visitors, particularly the nobles who flitted in and out at the Warden-Commander's leisure. Conversations stopped dead in their tracks whenever he entered a room, and he'd lost count of the number of sneers, sniffs, and pitying glances he'd absorbed.

Stepping into a side room away from the burning looks, he rested his head against the doorjamb and allowed himself a sigh, tasting bitterness tinged with nostalgia.

"This is a relative of yours, isn't it?"

The voice startled him from his melancholy, and he turned his head to look further into the room. Velanna stood with her back to him, her chin tilted downward and her gaze directed at something in her hands.

Nathaniel crossed the room and came to a stop next to her, looking over her shoulder at the small portrait she held. A thick layer of dust covered the frame and marred the brushstrokes, but the identity of the subject was unmistakable.

"Yes," he said, reaching over to gently wipe some of the grime from the painting's surface. "That is my father, Rendon Howe. The former arl of Amaranthine."

"Hmm." Velanna tilted her head and narrowed her eyes, as though she were an expert critic appraising the portrait's value. "He's hideous."

One eyebrow hitched up her forehead as she looked sidelong at Nathaniel, eyes raking him from head to toe. "You're lucky you escaped the same fate. You must take after your mother."

"I…suppose I'll take that as a compliment," Nathaniel said, smiling in spite of himself.

Velanna's mouth took on a deliberate quirk, and her gaze grew sly. "It can't be the first time someone has said you're handsome."

It was the first time someone had said so in such a roundabout way, but Nathaniel didn't voice the thought. "Well," he replied instead, "it's certainly the first time such a lovely woman has said so."

"Flatterer," Velanna shot back, her tone dismissive, but even in the Keep's dim light Nathaniel could see the tips of her ears turn a faint pink.

The reaction lasted only a second before she returned her gaze to the painting. "From what I've heard," she said, voice taking on an airy tone, "he was as ugly in personality as he was in appearance."

"You believe everything you hear, then?" Nathaniel plucked the painting from her grasp, eyes skimming over the familiar haughty eyes and downturned mouth. "My father had both faults and strengths, like any other man."

The sharp-tongued retort he expected never materialized, and he was surprised to see Velanna's gaze cloud over.

"I never knew my parents," she said after a moment, her voice both quiet and matter-of-fact. "Humans killed them when Seranni and I were young."

He swallowed. "I'm sorry."

"It hardly matters." Her chin jerked up, her expression turning stormy. "If they'd lived, no doubt they would have been happy to throw me to the wolves, just like the rest of my clan. People will always turn on those they profess to love when it suits them. Just like your father." She gave a long sigh, her defiance seeming to abandon her all at once. "Just like everyone."

Nathaniel watched her a moment before leaning over to place the portrait on a nearby table.

"Perhaps not everyone, my lady," he said, gently.

She met his gaze for a brief moment before her eyes returned to the former arl's unblinking stare.

"You _do_ have his nose," she stated, a hint of amusement lightening her tone.

"Ah, yes." Nathaniel's voice was dry, but he smiled. "There's no escaping the infamous Howe nose."

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><p>Being left at the Keep was <em>maddening<em>.

Velanna resisted the urge to pace as she stepped down yet another hallway that looked exactly the same as all the rest. The Grey Warden fortress was dank and enormous and drafty, leaving her with the unpleasant feeling that she could hardly whisper without hearing her words echo throughout the entire complex. She missed the rustling of grass, the whisper of wind in the trees, the warm tingle of sunlight on her skin.

The Warden-Commander had left hours earlier with the two dwarves and the insufferable human mage, and Creators only knew when they would return. Velanna hadn't been sorry to see them go—Anders in particular—but following their departure, no more than an hour had passed before she'd become unbearably restless.

It was reaching the point where she almost wished bandits or darkspawn or _something_ would attack the Keep, so that she would have something to take her mind off of—

"_Perhaps not everyone, my lady."_

Exasperation became resignation as Nathaniel's voice rolled through her head yet again, and Velanna pressed her fingertips against her eyelids until colored spots floated in her vision.

It made no sense. _He_ made no sense. She'd pushed and prodded him on numerous occasions. She'd insulted him, his race, his father. She'd shown him the depth of her cynicism. Nothing seemed to deter him. She kept waiting for the angry explosion, the sneering derision, the smug human superiority she was so accustomed to seeing.

Instead, he was calm, courteous, and—and—_flirtatious, _of all things. And he was inching his way deeper into her thoughts in ways that were beginning to alarm her.

He was a human. A _shem_. The mere thought of consorting with one was enough to make any elf's blood run cold with disgust or hot with rage. Entering into a relationship with a human was grounds for immediate exile.

_Then again, Velanna, you're already exiled—_

"Stop it," she hissed aloud, silencing her traitorous subconscious.

She rounded a corner and found herself in a sizable sitting room, and—_of course_—he was there, standing at the far end and looking out a window. Velanna clenched her teeth and stared at the back of his head, fleetingly wondering if it might not be easier to just hurl a fire spell at him and be done with it.

Instead she began to march through the room, hardly noticing the furniture she sidestepped, and came to a stop behind him with her words bubbling up in her throat.

"You don't _really_ want me."

Nathaniel looked over his shoulder, then turned, his eyebrows furrowing in a puzzled frown. "I beg your pardon, my lady?"

"Don't…_do_ that!" She couldn't think straight when he called her "my lady," when his voice dipped down an octave and sent strange tremors all the way to her toes. She blew out a short breath and plowed on before he could respond. "This—this _thing_ you keep doing with the "my ladys" and the compliments and the—just—_everything_. Don't think I don't know what you're doing. I will not tolerate you toying with me."

She had to admit, the way he kept his face completely blank was impressive. "Why do you think I'm toying with you?" he asked, voice neutral.

"Oh, isn't it obvious?" she demanded. "I'm an elf. You're a human. You're a _noble_. All of this—" she swept her arms in a grandiose gesture, "—belonged to you—"

"I _was_ a noble," he interrupted, softly but firmly. "And none of this property is mine any longer. I'm as much of an exile as you, Velanna. The name 'Howe' commands no respect now, only scorn."

"Ah!" Velanna said. "I see how it is, then. You're reduced to chasing after elves because none of your uppity _human_ women will even look twice at you now."

She broke off, realizing she was breathing hard and her eyes were blazing. Nathaniel was staring at her, and his expression was still inscrutable, but his jaw had tightened. Velanna tensed, waiting for the inevitable snap.

And then Nathaniel sighed, his face and his shoulders relaxing.

"Growing up as a nobleman's son," he began, "I often came in contact with many wealthy, refined, and beautiful young women. I could easily have married one of them if I'd wished."

Velanna narrowed her eyes. "And why didn't you?"

"Because among nobles," he said, "everyone always wants more of something. More money, more power, more influence. And people will say or do whatever they need to if it gets them one step closer to what they want. The women I knew were all beautiful and intelligent and had other admirable qualities, but they were playing the game as much as anyone else. My family had enough power and prestige that those women would all say anything I wanted if they believed it would advance their standing."

His eyes sharpened on her face. "But you, Velanna, are not only beautiful and intelligent, you never, ever hesitate to speak your mind. I'm not sure if you're even capable of deceit when you feel strongly about something. With you, I always know where I stand. It's…" He watched her, a smile playing on his face. "Refreshing."

Velanna drew a long breath, but nothing came out. Her mouth opened and closed several times.

Nathaniel chuckled, a deep and rumbling sound that made Velanna's stomach clench. "I seem to have achieved the impossible task of rendering you speechless."

"I—you—" She shook her head rapidly, as though trying to wake up from a bizarre dream. "I can't believe I'm even considering this. I don't even know what _this_ is. I—"

She stopped abruptly, staring down as Nathaniel's fingers wrapped around her hand. His grip was warm and firm, his fingertips pleasantly calloused, and the way his thumb stroked her wrist was making her heart do some very strange acrobatics.

"This…" She suddenly found it hard to breathe. "This will not last."

"I'll leave that up to your discretion, my lady." Raising her hand, he pressed his lips to her knuckles, his eyes never leaving hers.

And Velanna found that she had no more arguments, for herself or for him.


	3. Ablution

Nathaniel had never been much of a morning person.

Of course, his years of training, in Ferelden and the Free Marches alike, had long since divested him of any tendencies toward laziness. The ability to sense danger and spring into action at a moment's notice—even when sleeping—had been ingrained into him ever since he was old enough to hold his first child-sized bow. Decades later, he could still see his wizened instructor's bony finger shaking in his face, still hear the raspy but stern voice lecturing him, _"Stay alert, young Howe. Letting your enemy see you first is a good way to get yourself skewered like a boar."_

Still, all the training his father's coin could buy didn't change the fact that night after night of sleeping on cold, root-strewn earth wasn't ideal for putting him in a fresh state of mind first thing after sunrise.

An early-rising bird shrieked somewhere above his tent, only to be answered by a nearby cacophony of equally obnoxious twitters, and Nathaniel stifled a groan. Beyond the chorusing birds, he could just hear the sounds of his companions stirring, and he reluctantly hauled himself upward to stumble out of his tent.

"Gooood morning, sleepyhead!"

Nathaniel closed his eyes, the urge to turn around and duck back into his tent becoming almost unbearably strong. _Why does Anders always have to be the first person I see in the morning?_

"You're looking chipper this fine day!" the mage practically shouted, grinning up at Nathaniel from his perch next to the fire. "Slept well, I take it?"

Nathaniel grunted, glancing around the campsite. Justice stood a short ways off, staring down at the cooking breakfast with what was likely the most puzzled expression his undead face could muster. On the other side of the camp, a pair of boots poked out the entrance of Oghren's tent—doubtless an indication that the dwarf was still fast asleep.

"Where's the Commander?" Nathaniel asked, resisting the urge to rub his eyes.

"Oh, she and the other ladies are down at the creek performing their mysterious feminine rituals," Anders replied, licking the remnants of his breakfast from his fingers with a series of wet smacking sounds. "So you might not want to stumble down there like a shambling corpse just yet, unless you want to be met with a chorus of shrieks and a face full of icy cold water."

He paused, his grin turning sly. The effect coupled with the ridiculous mage cowl perched on his head made him appear slightly demented.

"I must admit," he went on, "I've been tempted once or twice to sneak over there and find out exactly what it is they spend so much time doing, but alas, I must resist the impulse. I'm far too much of a gentleman to spy on a bunch of beautiful, wet, half-naked women."

"That would indeed be unjust," Justice interjected from across the fire, having apparently given up on his contemplation of the food.

"Hey, now!" Anders swiveled in place, shooting Justice a wounded look. "Eavesdropping is unjust, too!"

"I was not eavesdropping, mage, merely overhearing. You have a tendency to speak rather loudly."

"It's called _projecting_, my good spirit. And you should try it sometime. You're a bit of a mumbler, yourself."

Nathaniel rolled his eyes and turned back toward his tent, letting the bickering continue behind him. It wasn't worth reminding Anders that he spent more time fussing over his appearance than did any of the women.

The morning air was crisp and cool, and Nathaniel flexed his fingers to work out the stiffness and kinks as he seated himself at his tent's entrance. Even without a reflective surface he could guess that he probably resembled a destitute beggar, with his face unshaven and his sleep-disheveled hair drooping in strings around his shoulders.

Letting out a sigh, he worked his fingers through the tangles as best he could, allowing his thoughts to stray elsewhere as he automatically set to forming his usual braids, winding the rows just tightly enough to keep the rest of his hair from flying into his face during battle. He was at it no longer than a minute before Velanna's voice broke into his meandering thoughts.

"If you continue on at that pace, it'll be well past noon before we can even break camp, let alone get back on the road."

He shook himself free from his musings and looked up at her, an amused smile crossing his face. "Good morning to you too, Velanna."

She _hmphed_ as she strode across the camp toward him, but he could read the subtle hints of fondness in the shifting of her expression.

"Let me do that," she huffed, taking pains to sound incredibly put-upon as she brushed his hands away from his head. "I used to braid Seranni's hair all the time when we were younger. She never could figure out how to do it properly herself."

She raked her fingers through his hair, starting at the nape of his neck and working her way up. Nathaniel couldn't hold back a low hum of pleasure even as Velanna made a disgusted noise deep in her throat.

"Creators, your hair is filthy. Don't you ever wash it?"

He kept his eyes closed, enjoying the scrape of her fingernails on his scalp. "I was informed that visiting the creek before you and the other ladies finished would be unwise."

"You could have at least picked the twigs out," she retorted, extricating a small sliver of wood from the strands.

He shrugged one shoulder. "We spend most of our days traipsing through wooded areas, tunnels, and ghost towns, killing all manner of foul creatures. Twigs are probably the cleanest things that manage to attach themselves to my head." He stretched his legs out in front of him. "Though I am glad to at least be out of all the muck of the Blackmarsh."

"Indeed," Velanna said, her tone pointed. "Places where the Veil is so thin should generally be avoided, not rushed into headlong. The Commander seems to be developing a habit of leading us into confrontations with demons."

Her fingers slowed momentarily, and he could sense her gaze directed across the camp, where Justice was pulling on his gloves.

"You don't approve of our latest party member, I take it?" Nathaniel asked.

"I have little opinion of him one way or the other," she said. "But I found that entire little session in the Fade…disconcerting. It would have been better if we'd just left well enough alone. Bringing Justice into our world did no favors for him or for us—not to mention that it's somewhat miraculous he possessed a corpse instead of me or Anders. Spirits are drawn to mages like dwarves to gold, after all."

"Hmm," Nathaniel said. "Possessing Anders would indeed be a rather traumatizing introduction to the world."

That earned him a quick snort of laughter. A moment later, she brushed her thumb up and down the side of his neck, the movement tentative but deliberate.

His lips quirked up in a smile. Since the moment he'd first begun to carefully show interest in her, Velanna had been uncomfortable either giving or receiving affection, particularly when a human was involved. The first time he'd reached out to casually touch her, she'd nearly jumped out of her skin, then cursed at him in her native tongue. Yet he was patient, she was nothing if not a quick study, and he'd soon learned how to gauge the more subtle shifts of her moods.

He took a deep breath.

"Back when we were in the Fade," he began, "you said you thought it would be better if we hadn't intervened in the…situation there."

He could immediately sense her growing wary, her fingers tightening in his hair as she continued to braid.

"That's correct," she said. "I'm sure we could have found another way out of the Fade that didn't involve dragging powerful spirits out with us."

"Perhaps," he said. "But that would have meant leaving all those people trapped in that nightmare with their tyrannical ruler. Their only crime was trying to liberate themselves from oppression. I could see no harm in trying to help them win their freedom, to set things right in the Blackmarsh."

"But it was none of our concern," Velanna protested. "We had no quarrel with the Baroness. What right did we have to stick our noses in a decades-old feud between a people and their ruler? Besides," she added with a snort, "the Commander stops to help every street urchin and weeping widow she passes. It's my experience that those who give too much of themselves ultimately have nothing left at all."

"That is a possibility," he said. "But I think it's also possible to strike a balance between practicality and compassion."

She was quiet for several moments before she spoke again, her tone bitter.

"You think I'm heartless, don't you?" Her fingers pulled the braid tight—too tight.

"Ow!"

"Don't be such a child," she said automatically. Tension simmered in her voice.

"I know you aren't heartless," he said, his voice soft. He reached out to brush his fingers against her leg, the only part of her within arm's length. She stiffened, but didn't pull away, and he felt tiny goosebumps pebble under his thumb. "If you were, you wouldn't care so fiercely about your sister and the fate of your people. I'm just saying that sometimes, even those you don't consider your own can also be worth saving."

"I…suppose it's something to think about," she muttered, her tone grudging. "But if you're trying to make me soft, human, it won't work."

He smiled, sliding his hand further up her calf and over her knee, enjoying how her breathing quickened in response. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"You—stop trying to distract me," she gritted out, fingers working furiously at his hair. "There. Finished."

She lingered a moment, hands hovering over his shoulders before she stepped away, and he let his hand fall from her leg back to his side. She shot him a quick glance through her lashes, eyes bright, before she cleared her throat and fixed her attention on his hair.

"You look at least somewhat presentable now," she stated, then cleared her throat again.

He inclined his head. "Thank you, Velanna."

"If you two lovebirds are nearly finished being all domestic and cuddly, we're just about ready to get a move-on!" came Anders' voice in a sudden, loud singsong, causing them both to jump.

Nathaniel rose, leveling a scowl in Anders' direction. "What was all that business earlier about eavesdropping being unjust?"

The mage shrugged and spread his hands in a picture of innocence. "Well, _I_ never claimed to be burdened by a spirit of Justice."

"Ugh," Velanna sighed, and stalked off in the direction of her tent. "_Humans_."


	4. Detour

**A/N:** Bit of a short chapter today. The next one is almost done, however, so I'll try to get it uploaded tomorrow. Also bumping the rating up to T for this chapter, just to be safe!

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><p>As Nathaniel led her into the room and closed the door firmly behind them, Velanna wasn't sure whether the tingling feeling in her stomach was due to anticipation or nerves.<p>

She let out a long, controlled breath, yet the accursed fluttering only seemed to increase as she watched Nathaniel dig in his pocket for the key, the metal clinking pleasantly as he fit it into the lock. Velanna turned away to distract herself, wrapping her arms over her chest and casting her gaze about the room. A plush carpet covered most of the floor, thick enough to curl her toes in, and a small but robust fire crackled beyond the hearth against the wall.

And then, of course, there was the bed: a lavish-looking affair heaped with pillows and consuming a truly obscene amount of floor space.

Velanna swallowed and took a step away from the fireplace. She felt _quite_ warm enough already. Her arms tightened across her chest, and she resisted the sudden silly urge to wipe her palms on her clothing.

Behind her, she could sense Nathaniel's approach, yet she still jumped when his fingers brushed against her neck. She spun around to face him, just in time to catch the slight raise of his eyebrows.

"Are you all right?" he asked, lowering his hand back to his side. His expression grew both concerned and guarded, and Velanna caught her lower lip between her teeth, silently berating her own skittishness.

"Of course I'm all right," she said, the statement somewhere between an assurance and a snap. "You don't need to coddle me. I'm just—I—oh, curse it."

She reached up and grabbed his face with both hands, pulling him into a fierce kiss. His quick inhalation of surprise sent a jolt of satisfaction through her, chasing away some of the fluttering in her stomach, and she pressed harder, threading his thick hair between her fingers.

Somehow they made it to the bed, and she pushed Nathaniel down onto the surface, crawling up until she knelt between his legs. Somewhere between the door and the bed her hair had managed to free itself from its ties, and she paused to shake it back, letting it cascade over her shoulders. She heard Nathaniel's breath catch, and then his arms were wrapping around her and pulling her down, and she went without protest as his lips found hers once more.

Her fingers skimmed down his chest to grasp at the edge of his shirt, and Nathaniel broke the kiss long enough to raise his arms as she pulled the garment over his head. Velanna gave a hiss of impatience, balling the fabric up and tossing it away before settling her hands back on Nathaniel's chest.

Without warning, she jerked back as if scalded, giving a wordless yelp as she backpedaled off the bed.

"What in the name of the _Creators_—"

She stood rooted to the spot as Nathaniel pushed himself upright into a sitting position, eyes wide with alarm. "Velanna? What's wrong?"

"You—" She made a flailing gesture in the direction of his torso. "You're _hairy_. It's like there's an animal living on your chest!"

Nathaniel glanced down at himself, then back at her, his expression morphing from alarm to bewilderment. "I—what? Velanna, you've seen me with my shirt off before."

"Well, yes, but—" She broke off with an agitated huff, eyes darting everywhere but the bed. "That was always in the middle of a lake, or if you were having injuries healed and were half-covered up in bandages. Not like—like _this. _I didn't realize there was…so _much_ of it."

She risked a glance at his face, pointedly refusing to let her eyes drift below his neck. He still appeared bemused, but one corner of his mouth looked suspiciously like it was threatening to quirk upward.

"This isn't funny," she hissed. "It's so…_unsanitary_. How can you stand it?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "It's no more unsanitary than the hair on my head. Or yours. It's just in a different place." He sobered, his gaze sharpening on her, but his voice was gentle when he spoke. "Do you want to stop?"

Velanna narrowed her eyes and stared pointedly downward, gathering her sarcasm around her like a protective cloak. "Do you think you _can_ stop?"

He held her gaze, but his turned unreadable. After a moment, he spoke quietly. "I would never coerce you into doing something you didn't want to do. If you think that of me, we should stop anyway."

"I—" Velanna reached up to press her fingers briefly against her temples. "I'm…sorry. I didn't mean for—"

She cut herself off, huffing out a short sigh, and glowered at the wall.

The bed creaked under Nathaniel's weight. "The hair isn't really the problem, is it?" he asked, voice quiet.

The room seemed to grow unbearably hot, and Velanna resisted the urge to turn around, to see if the fire had freed itself from the hearth and begun to spread along the walls.

"Perhaps…" she began. Her throat was dry, and the words seemed to stick in her mouth. "Perhaps I'm not as ready to be with a human as I thought I was."

Even from where she stood, she could see Nathaniel's eyes dim, but he nodded. "I understand."

He moved to push himself off the bed, eyes traveling to the corner where she'd unceremoniously thrown his shirt. Velanna's fists clenched at her sides, frustration shooting through her like a misfired spell.

"Wait," she heard herself saying. "Just…give me a moment."

Nathaniel stilled, settling back onto the bed and watching her, a question in his eyes.

Velanna took a step toward him, then another, finally reaching out to carefully rest her hands on his chest. The hair seemed to bristle under her touch, but she fought back the automatic wave of revulsion, letting her fingers drift lower.

She closed her eyes, her hands slipping down toward his ribs. Beneath the fur, he wasn't so different from an elf. She could feel the warmth of his skin and the firmness of his muscles, and his heart thundered against her fingers like a galloping halla.

"Velanna." The word was barely above a whisper, but she could hear the strain in his voice. "Don't tease me."

She opened her eyes. Nathaniel's face was just inches from hers, his gaze riveted on her like a hawk, and his white-knuckled fingers curved like claws into the bedding.

Her decision made, Velanna slid her hands to his waist, and closed the distance between them with a kiss.


	5. Confessions

All things considered, this wasn't too bad.

The tip of Sigrun's tongue poked out between her teeth as she dipped a clean spot of rag into her tin of polish, setting to work on a particularly stubborn blemish marring her dagger. Nearby, the fire that always burned in the Keep's main hall gave an inviting _pop_, the flames flickering cheerfully across the blade's gleaming surface, and Sigrun smiled.

If she closed her eyes, she could _almost_ imagine she was back in the Deep Roads, with nothing to hear but the fire, the occasional howl of wind, and the buffing of the rag against her blade…

Without warning, the door flew open with a crash and a squeaking protest of its hinges, followed by the unmistakable huffing and muttering of an irritated, high-strung elf.

Sigrun sighed, reluctantly opening her eyes and taking another swipe of the polish. _Well, it's not a perfect illusion._

The volume of Velanna's exasperation increased as she stalked further into the room, stepping toward the fire. Sigrun looked over at the mage in spite of herself, frowning a little at her obvious agitation. After no more than a few days of living, traveling, and fighting alongside the elf, she'd quickly learned to distinguish between what was genuine disquiet and what was just Velanna being Velanna.

This was decidedly the former.

"Hey," she said, sitting up straighter and letting her blade settle on her knees. "Everything okay? What happened?" She paused a moment as a thought occurred to her. "Did you and Nathaniel have a fight?"

Velanna's head whipped around so fast it was almost comical to watch. "What?" she demanded. "Why do you think that?"

Sigrun's armor clanked as she lifted her shoulders in a shrug. "No reason. Just that you look like you want to kill someone and your face is red all the way from your chin to your ears."

Velanna made a harrumphing sound, one hand straying up to toy with the tip of her ear, and directed her unfocused gaze into the fire.

"So." Sigrun laid the dagger aside, propping her elbows on her knees and her chin in her palms. "You fought?"

"No," Velanna said pointedly. "We didn't _fight_."

"He did something else, then," Sigrun guessed. "Did he insult your ears again?"

"No! He just—" Velanna's lips twisted. "I just don't understand him."

"You're only making me more curious here, Velanna," Sigrun said, shooting the elf a teasing grin. "Come on, tell me what he did."

"He told me he loved me!" Velanna burst out. Her flush deepened from pink to scarlet, and she stared into the fire like it held the key to unlocking all the secrets in the universe.

For a moment, it seemed as though all sound had been sucked from the Keep aside from the fire's crackling.

"_Really_?" Sigrun said.

"You don't have to sound quite so surprised." Velanna's arms snaked around herself, the words little more than a mutter.

"Sorry. I just—" Sigrun blinked, then shook her head. "Never mind. So…what's the problem, again?"

"I just _told_ you!"

"Let me get this straight," Sigrun said. "You're upset because your man told you that he loved you?"

Velanna twisted her fingers, worrying them together. "He's…_not_…'my man!'"

Sigrun reached over and grabbed the tankard sitting near her knee, throwing it back to hide her rolling eyes. The mug was actually empty, but Velanna didn't need to know that. "Of course, sorry. The man that you're exclusively sleeping with, and who stares adoringly at you every time your back is turned, told you that he loves you. Yeah, I can see how that might be a little disconcerting."

Velanna's twitching stilled. "He…stares adoringly?"

Sigrun grinned. "Hey, just because I'm technically dead doesn't mean I'm unobservant." She tilted her head, expression growing thoughtful. "But seriously, Velanna. Did something special happen that prompted this sudden declaration? Did you do something really heroic that made him unable to contain his feelings one second longer?"

"No! That's just it!" Velanna threw her hands in the air. "Nothing out of the ordinary happened. He wasn't trying to bed me or asking for a favor. He just…"

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Apparently I had something on my face—some dust or blood or something. He wiped it off with his thumb and then just told me he loved me. For no reason."

This time, Sigrun made no attempt to suppress her eyeroll. "You guys really need to stop being so cutesy. It's kind of sickening."

"What?" A look of bewilderment crossed Velanna's face.

"Ah, never mind. I forgot you don't know the meaning of the word 'cute.'" She stretched her arms out in front of her, giving her knuckles a quick crack. "All right, look. First of all, Nathaniel's a man. They're not supposed to make sense. That said, have you considered that you might be overthinking this a little? I mean, I know it's kind of hard to fathom, but isn't there a chance that he might just have genuine feelings for you?"

She couldn't quite manage to filter all the sarcasm out of her voice, and Velanna's face tightened. "I don't appreciate you mocking me, dwarf. It may come as a surprise to you, but I don't have all that much experience with…this sort of thing."

Sigrun raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You don't have much experience with men?"

"Of course I have experience with _men_," she scoffed. "Just not with—with…" The words trailed off into an exasperated sound, and she met Sigrun's eyes with an almost plaintive gaze.

"Love?" Sigrun supplied helpfully.

"Precisely." She heaved a sigh so mournful that Sigrun couldn't help but chuckle.

"Well, for what it's worth, Velanna, you don't seem to be doing all that bad to me. You've somehow managed to stumble into a relationship with a loving, committed partner. I'm sure you can figure out some way to make the best of it."

She reached over and picked up her polishing rag again, raising an eyebrow. "And hey, look at it this way: even if one or both of you finds some way to drastically screw it all up, at least you won't have a really long lifespan to spend agonizing over how you squandered a chance at love!"

Velanna stared at her, eyes both narrowed and resigned. "Your knack for dispensing reassuring advice is uncanny."

Sigrun tilted her head back, her grin nothing short of cheeky. "I do my best."


	6. One Day

**A/N:** This chapter is rated F for Fluff of the shameless variety. Proceed with caution.

* * *

><p>The sky, for once, was bright and almost cloudless over the Keep, with warm breezes stirring the trees throughout the compound. The fortress itself was nearly emptied, its inhabitants outdoors enjoying the onset of spring.<p>

Velanna walked across the courtyard, leather-bound journal tucked under her arm, headed for the familiar refuge offered by the wooded areas on the Keep's outskirts. Snatches of laughter and conversation reached her ears, along with a warbling coo from Anders and a responding _meow_ from Ser Pounce-a-lot. Somewhere over to her left came a raucous bellow of laughter, and Velanna automatically glanced over to meet Oghren's slightly-unfocused eyes.

She snorted, hardly surprised that the dwarf was already well on his way to inebriation at half-past noon.

"'Oy, Velanna," Oghren shouted, hoisting his tankard above his head. A few drips of the foul-smelling swill sloshed over the edge, splattering on his shoes. "Justice 'n I were just talkin' about you!"

Velanna curled her lip and came to a reluctant halt, arching an eyebrow at the dwarf. "Were you?"

"Indeed," Justice replied, wrinkling his nose away from Oghren's mug. "In fact, perhaps you would care to weigh into our conversation, Velanna. We were engaging in a bit of a debate regarding your relationship with Nathaniel, and have been unable to reach an agreement—"

"—'cause Justice here is a sodding stick-in-the-mud," Oghren slurred.

"To be more precise," Justice continued, pointedly ignoring Oghren's interjection, "we have been discussing the subject of marriage."

The book slipped from beneath Velanna's arm and tumbled into the dust, the wind ruffling through the pages. She gave a muffled curse, hurriedly bending down to retrieve the volume.

"That is the convention for a relationship such as the one between you and Nathaniel, is it not?" Justice went on, taking little notice of her reaction. "I find it odd that he has not yet extended such a proposal to you. It is proper for a man to—what is the saying?—'make an honest woman' of the one he loves." He paused, his pale eyes narrowing in thought. "Though I confess I do not entirely understand that idiom. It is my experience that you do not lack for honesty, Velanna."

"Pah," Oghren said, jumping in before Velanna could respond. "Marriage's overrated. Nothin' good comes of it—jus' look at what happened with Branka." Beneath his beard, his expression morphed into a leer. "And more importantly, the two of you are already, eh, _tapping the midnight still_, if ya get my drift. So why bother goin' to all the trouble to make it official?"

"Because in addition to legalizing the union, marriage can also serve to solidify the bond between the two partners," Justice said, frowning down at Oghren. "According to Kristoff's memories, the day he married Aura was one of the happiest of his life."

"Sure," Oghren muttered into his drink. "And then it's all downhill from there."

"Enough!" Velanna yelped, her hands tightening into fists, fingernails leaving little indentations on her book's cover. "The entire matter is none of your business!"

"I apologize if I have overstepped my bounds," Justice said. "I simply wish to understand."

Oghren gave a bark of laughter. "Justice, if you're here tryin' to understand women, you might as well just go back to th' Fade. It'd be easier."

Justice's reply was swallowed up in the courtyard clamor as Velanna turned on her heel and marched away, heading for the opposite end of the Keep.

The sounds of voices faded away as she walked, gradually replaced by the _twang_ of bowstrings and the thudding of arrows into sturdy targets. Velanna halted next to the practice range and scanned the line of archers, each face deep in concentration. Nathaniel stood nearby with his bow drawn, alongside several other Wardens and soldiers Velanna didn't recognize.

Though Nathaniel's eyes never left his target, his face creased in a smile as Velanna approached. "My lady," he greeted, adjusting his grip on his bow.

Velanna waited until he released the arrow, the projectile thwacking squarely into the chest of the unfortunate straw-stuffed target.

"I need to talk to you," she said.

"Of course." He lowered his bow, eyebrows drawing together as he caught sight of her face. "Are you all right?"

She pursed her lips. "That depends. I just had a…conversation with Justice and Oghren."

"About what?"

Velanna shook her head and drew her arms around herself, rubbing at the goosebumps springing up on her skin in spite of the day's warmth. "Not here."

Nathaniel's frown deepened, but he didn't protest. "All right. One moment."

At a quick command, the other archers stayed their bows as Nathaniel strode out to the target to collect his arrows, depositing them in his quiver before returning to where Velanna stood.

"After you," he gestured, then let his hand rest briefly on the small of her back.

Her toes involuntarily curled within her boots, warring impulses shooting through her.

The practice range was situated near the outer edges of the compound, and it was only a short walk before they were alone, with no interruptions but the chirping of birds and insects. Velanna let out a deep breath and tried to concentrate on the familiar sounds of nature, willing the knot in her abdomen to uncoil. Escaping the Wardens' cold, imposing fortress and its constant squawking human voices typically helped her relax, yet now the solitude—and Nathaniel's patient silence—seemed only to increase the prickling anxiety.

Finally she spun away from his side and positioned herself in front of him, bringing him to a sudden halt. She tried to plant her hands on her hips, only to be impeded by the forgotten book still clutched in her grip, and she transferred it from one hand to the other several times before Nathaniel's deep chuckle startled her back into reality.

"Relax, Velanna," he said, resting both hands on her shoulders. "Surely whatever discussion you had with Justice and Oghren couldn't have been so terrible."

She swallowed, looked up into his face, and took a deep breath.

"Are you going to ask me to marry you?" she blurted.

Nathaniel's eyebrows rose, and he took a step back, his hands falling from her shoulders. Velanna waited, dimly realizing all her muscles were tensed, like an animal poised to flee at the first sign of danger.

"Do you want me to?" Nathaniel asked. His voice was calm, the momentary surprise gone from his face as though it had never been.

"Don't answer the question with another question!" She scowled up at him, some of the tension dissipating with the exclamation.

He smiled at that, the quirk of his lips barely visible. "Well, it's a rather important question, isn't it? Most men have no particular desire for their proposals to be rejected."

He tilted his head, eyes scanning her face a moment before he continued. "Let me ask you this. If, hypothetically speaking, I were to propose to you today, would you accept?"

Velanna shifted back and forth on the balls of her feet. "Hypothetically?"

Nathaniel nodded.

The birds' songs seemed to grow louder, the sunshine became uncomfortably hot, and Velanna drew a breath so deep that she felt dizzy.

"No."

Nathaniel inclined his head once, his expression perfectly neutral. "Then that's that, isn't it?"

A wave of dissatisfaction flooded through her, so strong it nearly knocked her over. "But it's not—it isn't—it's just that elves marrying humans isn't _done_. Legally binding yourself to a human is considered traitorous to the entire community—"

"I know." He brought his fingers to her cheek, the touch so light she barely felt it. "You don't have to explain."

She stared up at him, eyes darting anxiously over his face. "What about you? What do you want?"

"It doesn't matter."

Velanna balled her fists by her sides. "Does that mean…you don't want it?"

He looked at her sidelong, a glint of amusement barely visible beneath his typical stoicism. "I didn't say that."

She threw her head back on her shoulders, raising her eyes to the heavens. "Creators, I swear you will be the death of me, you exasperating human! Will you stop toying with me and just give me a straight answer for once?"

"If you insist." He stepped toward her, his hands easily circling her waist. "Velanna, I would marry you tomorrow if you wanted it. But if there's one thing the past several years have taught me, it's that trying to persuade you into something you don't want is an exercise in futility. You are one of the most stubborn women I have ever known, possibly even more than my sister. It is one of your many traits that somehow manages to be appealing and maddening all at once."

He sobered. "But I digress. Marriage isn't something that one should be persuaded into, anyway. It would be wrong of me to push you into something that momentous if you weren't completely comfortable with it. Perhaps one day you will come to accept the idea on your own terms, and then I will ask you. But not before."

She studied him, her gaze intent on his face. "And if that day never comes?"

"Then I'll never ask."

Relief swept over her, and she closed her eyes, allowing herself to relax in his grip. "Thank you."

He tipped her head back and kissed her in response, his other arm tightening around her waist. After a moment, she pulled back to rest her forehead against his.

"Nathaniel?"

"Mm?"

"I will…" She swallowed. "Think about it."

She felt his smile. "Take whatever time you need. I'll be here when you decide."


	7. Marked

Velanna let out a deep sigh, burrowing down into the tousled sheets. Heaviness and warmth stole over her limbs, and she let her eyes drift closed, enjoying the pleasant tingling still enveloping her body.

Tomorrow, she knew, she would be cursing her sore muscles, but at the moment it didn't matter in the slightest.

The bed creaked next to her as Nathaniel shifted positions, and a moment later she felt his fingers on her face, the pad of his thumb tracing the markings on her chin. Without opening her eyes, she lifted a hand to bat him away, a smile snaking across her face.

"Stop that. I'm trying to sleep."

Even without looking at him, she could tell he was pretending to scowl as he answered. "Not even a word of thanks for my services? You wound me deeply."

She laughed, cracking one eye open with a show of reluctance. "Men! You're all so needy."

"Mmm." His fingers moved to her forehead, callouses scraping lightly on her skin, and pushed back her damp bangs to reveal her tattoo. "Are you ever going to tell me what these mean?"

"The tattoos?" She opened her other eye. "You never asked!"

His smirking eyes glinted at her in the soft lamplight. "I'm asking now."

Velanna lifted one hand to her face, her gaze growing distant with the memory of Ilshae's steady hands applying the ink, of her teeth grinding together in savage determination as she fought to keep the pain from showing. "My people call it _vallaslin_, the blood writing. Each of us receives it when we come of age, as a mark of adulthood and responsibility. It serves as a reminder of all we've lost, and how we must never lose it again." Her eyes sharpened on his face. "It's also meant to set us apart from _your_ kind."

He raised an eyebrow as he looked her up and down, from her face to where their legs still intertwined. "I see."

Velanna waited, but the expected surge of irritation failed to materialize, chased off by the lingering afterglow. She pushed herself up on one elbow, waving her index finger at him instead. "No smart remarks, or you'll ruin my good mood!"

"Perish the thought." He smiled, and Velanna leaned toward him, pushing at his shoulders until he lay back against the pillows.

"My turn," she said, and let her hands skim down his chest, her eyes following their path. The first time he'd disrobed in front of her, she had been startled by the number of scars that marred his skin, crossing along his arms, back, and torso. In spite of his claim that his life as a former noble hadn't been one of pampering, she had found it difficult to shed her mental image of all affluent humans living in extravagant luxury.

Her fingers came to rest on a thin, jagged white line that arched just beneath his ribs. "Where did this one come from?"

"The Free Marches," he said. "Third year I was there. I had a bit of a run-in with a particularly nasty mercenary band in Tantervale. I managed to fight them off, but not before one of them left me that as a parting gift."

"And this one?" she asked, running her thumb over a smaller, circular mark near his breastbone.

He shook his head at her, making a chiding noise. "Now you're going out of sequence. It's my turn, isn't it?"

She stifled a squawk as he closed his hands around her hips, flipping her over with ease before she had time to formulate a response. He leaned down to peer at the small tattoo just above her hipbone, his warm breath on her skin making her shiver involuntarily.

"I've never quite been able to make this one out." He tapped his finger under the marking. "What is it? More blood writing?"

Velanna shook her head. "No, the _vallaslin_ refers only to our facial tattoos. That is…something else."

He craned his neck to look up at her. "I'm listening."

She huffed out a sigh. "It's foolish, but…oh, very well. When I was younger, I had a favorite halla named Da'adahl, which means 'little tree.' I used to spend long hours telling her all my silly hopes and fears that I was convinced no one else could ever understand. Then one winter she caught ill and died, and I was inconsolable. That tattoo is in remembrance of her." She reached down to trace the inked patterns with one fingernail. "The small tree in the center is for her name, and the outer designs match the shape of her horns."

She shook her head and leaned back, propping one of the pillows beneath the small of her back and crossing her arms over her chest. "Sentimental nonsense, really."

Nathaniel chuckled. "I come from a culture where mabari are almost as highly esteemed as people, and are often given lavish funerals complete with mourning and gifts of consolation to the bereaved family. I wouldn't consider your tattoo foolish at all."

Velanna's lips twitched in a smile. "The mabari are easily more noble creatures than your human lords, that much is certain."

Nathaniel tilted his head, looking up at her with a mixture of exasperation and fondness. "You make me glad I'm an archer rather than a swordsman. I fear no blade can match your tongue for sharpness."

Her hint of a smile turned to a full-blown grin. "I'm sure that's the finest compliment you've ever given me."

She leaned down to kiss him, bracing herself on his chest, enjoying the rumbling vibrations of his laughter beneath her fingers.

"My turn again," she murmured as she pulled back, running her fingers down his sides. "Wait a moment…this one looks fresh."

She frowned, pulling Nathaniel's arm aside to better inspect the reddened gashes on his flank. "How did this happen? Creators, it looks as though a wild animal took a swipe at you."

"Ah," he replied. "Yes, I received that one recently—two nights ago, to be exact. It was courtesy of a beautiful woman, though, so I didn't mind all that much."

"_What_?"

He laughed at the sudden darkening of her expression. "Calm yourself, my lady. You speared me with those wicked fingernails of yours as you were thrashing about in a nightmare."

Velanna blinked, her clenched muscles relaxing. "Oh."

"Best I could tell," Nathaniel continued, amusement still flickering in his eyes, "you were battling a hurlock. Or perhaps an ogre. You seemed quite determined to take it down."

She cleared her throat, picking an imaginary speck of lint off the sheets. "I…didn't intend to do that."

"Of course you didn't," he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "You were asleep. Now, you haven't finished telling me about your blood writing."

She frowned. "I haven't?"

"You told me about the history behind the markings, but I still don't know exactly what they signify," he said. "I haven't come across many Dalish elves aside from you, but the few others I have seen had tattoos that looked similar to yours, yet not exactly the same. What do the different types mean?"

"Oh. Each design signifies one of the deities in our pantheon," she explained. "Mine is the marking of Andruil, goddess of the hunt, as well as the creator of _Vir Tanadahl_, the code by which we live."

He was silent a moment, watching her with a thoughtful expression. "You don't often speak of your beliefs."

"Why would I?" she scoffed. "I am the only Dalish elf in this compound full of humans. Proclaiming my faith in the Creators seems an excellent way to be branded a crazed blasphemer when everyone around me invokes the name of Andraste on a daily basis."

Her eyes softened, drifting to the thick leather journal that lay on a nearby dresser. "I write about the Creators instead, every day, and I attend to the ceremonies and rituals as best I can on my own. I may never again live among my own kind, but I refuse to forget my history and culture. That is the exact reason we receive the _vallaslin_ in the first place: so that we remember."

A shadow seemed to cross her face, and she shifted onto her side, drawing her knees up toward her chest and unconsciously pulling the sheets tighter around her.

Nathaniel dipped his head to peer at her face. "What's the matter?"

Her eyes darted to his, then back to where the bedcovers pooled over her legs. "Nothing, really. This conversation just reminded me of something I've been turning over in my head for the past several days." She let out a long breath. "Every year we perform a ritual against Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf who betrayed the gods, as a way to symbolically ensure the clan's protection from evil forces for the next year. The specified time for the ritual will occur in a few days, and…I thought I might ask you if you wanted to observe."

The last words spilled out in a rush, and Nathaniel couldn't stop his eyebrows from climbing up his forehead.

"Are you certain you would want me there?" he asked slowly.

"Not in the slightest," she grumbled, still staring at the bedsheets. She seized one edge of the covering, worrying at a loose thread with her thumb and forefinger. "If one or both of us are struck dead during the ceremony, I suppose that will be my answer."

"A comforting thought," he said, tone dry.

She glanced at his face, then resumed her assault on the unfortunate thread. "But I've been thinking. Ever since we started…_this_, you have been…" She swallowed, waving her hand in a vague circular motion. "Patient. With me. I've given you every reason to throw your hands up in disgust and walk away, but you haven't. Yet." She shot him a quick look, followed by a quicker smile. "So my conclusion is, if you're not going to leave, you should be aware of this part of my life. I will always be Dalish first and foremost."

"I would be honored, Velanna," he said simply, finding her hand beneath the sheets and giving it a quick squeeze.

Velanna released her breath, and some of the tension drained from her shoulders. "Good."

For a moment, her smile was almost soft, then her eyes sharpened. "In that case, maybe you can help me gather the necessary elements for the ritual. There are a good number to prepare, and not much time to do it. I'll need a goblet—large, but not _too_ large—five white candles, three freshly skinned wolf pelts—"

Nathaniel blinked. "Three freshly skinned wolf pelts?"

"It's a ritual regarding the Dread Wolf." She stared at him as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Of course I can't do it without wolf pelts."

He shook his head and settled in next to her, and his laugh was both resigned and mellow. "Very well, then. If wolf pelts are what the lady wants, then wolf pelts she'll have."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** At last, a chapter in which Velanna isn't freaking out about something! Enjoy it while it lasts. Next chapter will have a good dose of angst to help balance out all the tooth-rotting fluff thus far.

I did a fair amount of soul-searching about this chapter (as much as one can soul-search about fanfic, anyway) and whether or not it's in-character for Velanna. My feeling is that while Velanna in Awakening would probably not make such an offer to a human, this takes place a number of years following the events of Awakening, and I like to think that her attitude toward humans could mellow somewhat over the years as she realizes they're not all the same. (In fact, I believe one of the possible epilogues for her says something to that effect.) But in any case, human/elf tensions will obviously always be an issue for her, which will continue to be reflected in future chapters.


	8. Tempest

**A/N:** This chapter jumps ahead in time a little following the previous one.

* * *

><p>"No. Absolutely not."<p>

Nathaniel brought a hand to his forehead, as though an anvil were pounding between his eyes. "Velanna…"

"I said no. Don't cajole me!" Agitation welled up in her throat, and she forced it down, balling her fists to keep magic from rolling through her fingertips. "Nathaniel, it's not just that I don't want to—I don't think I _can_. I don't know the—"

"Oh, for Andraste's sake, Velanna," he interrupted with a snarl. "It's not as though I'm asking you to take on an archdemon singlehanded. It's one visit with my sister and her family. How can that possibly be too much to ask?"

"Your _human_ sister and her _human_ family," Velanna spat. "You have no idea what it feels like to be the only elf in a room full of humans—"

"There are three of them, and one is a child!" Nathaniel interrupted again, his face growing more thunderous by the second. "Delilah and her husband and son are the only family I have left, Velanna. I won't give them up for you."

"I didn't _ask_ you to!" Vaguely, she was aware that her voice was nearing hysterical levels, but she was past caring. "Go visit your sister. Visit her as many times as you like. I won't stop you. Just don't ask me to come along and play the meek devoted elven wife."

Nathaniel's face twisted, and for one frozen moment Velanna was sure she was staring at an old portrait of Rendon Howe, locked away in the attic of Vigil's Keep.

"I never ask you for _anything_," he hissed, his voice deceptively quiet. "I don't complain when you make snide remarks or hateful diatribes about the whole human race. I don't cover my face in shame when people point and stare at you while we're in public together. I keep my mouth shut when you say things that only a barbarian raised in a forest would say. That you would refuse me this one simple, _normal_ request is truly extraordinary, Velanna."

She blinked at him, openmouthed, and raised a hand to her cheek. Her fingers came away wet, and she looked down at them in detached shock.

She couldn't remember the last time she had wept.

Sudden fury at her own weakness overwhelmed her, and she drew herself up, her eyes spitting flame.

"How _magnanimous_ and _benevolent_ of you," she sneered. "Poor longsuffering soul, forced to endure the hysterical ravings of your irrational, miserable bitch of an elven wife. Surely Andraste herself must smile down upon you from the heavens, since your temperance and fortitude rivals her own!"

Her breath came in harsh wheezes, and she bared her teeth like a werewolf. "I don't care what you do. Go visit your _shemlen_ family."

She hadn't used the slur in years. In the back of her mind, part of her regretted the word the instant it left her mouth.

The rest of her felt only cold, hard satisfaction at the sight of Nathaniel's face closing off into a stony mask.

"Forgive me for wasting so much of your time," he said. "My _lady_."

The words dripped with derision, and his tone was as cold as the Frostback Mountains. Without another glance at her, he turned on his heel and stormed from the room, and the slamming of the door echoed like a thunderclap.

* * *

><p>Hours blended into days, and Velanna spent most of her time barricaded in her room or stalking the hallways of the Keep, receiving a wide berth from the fortress' other inhabitants. She tried to read, but found the words only jumbled and smeared together on the pages, and after several attempts she threw the book across the room in disgust. Sleep was elusive, and her eyelids scratched like sanding paper with every blink.<p>

Worst of all were the nights when she woke up gasping, darkspawn roars echoing in her ears, and found her traitorous body yearning for Nathaniel's warmth before her pride could reassert itself.

A week passed with no word from him. Velanna found herself standing in their room and staring at nothing, replaying their final conversation—no, screaming match—over and over. Slivers of doubt, uncertainty and fear began to worm themselves into the barricade of stubborn anger she'd built around herself. Mindless errands did little to distract her from the turmoil, and she found herself wishing for an expedition to the Deep Roads, if only to take her out frustration on hapless darkspawn.

On the tenth day after his departure, it occurred to Velanna that she might never see him again, and she felt competing stabs of defiance and panic at the thought. Wardens had been known to leave the order before—it was rare, but not impossible. He might have decided to stay in Amaranthine with Delilah forever…

_No_, she thought savagely, almost as soon as the thought entered her head. _He is nothing if not true to his duty. Even if he wants nothing more to do with me, he won't leave the Wardens._

Yet the sliver of doubt grew to a fissure, and angry red fingernail-shaped abrasions began to appear on her palms.

By the twelfth day, she was certain the sheer state of _not knowing _was going to drive her mad. Her defenses began to peel away at a rapid rate, aggravation and guilt and questions circling in her mind like vultures above a carcass. Finally, when she could stand the waiting and the uncertainty no longer, she threw necessities into a small bag and slung it over her shoulder, marching out the Keep's front entrance and turning toward the city.

She would be no simpering, weak-willed fool waiting in passive silence for her husband to make up his mind.

* * *

><p>Locating Delilah Howe's residence turned out to be a simpler task than Velanna anticipated. Her husband was a well-known merchant in the city's market square, and the local tavern-keep was more than willing to provide the address in exchange for a bit of coin.<p>

Velanna stood at the front door, breathing deeply as she flicked her eyes back and forth over the house. It was modest but well-kept, with sturdy walls and a clean-swept walkway. Around the back, she could just glimpse a small but carefully tended garden, with vegetables and herbs growing in neat and orderly rows.

She rested her hand on the doorknob, giving it a careful turn and finding it unlocked. Within, she could just make out the sounds of conversation—deep rumbles interspersing with a woman's higher pitch, the steady flow interrupted by occasional bursts of laughter.

Her stomach clenched and she stiffened her spine, raising her chin as she flicked her wrist and threw the door open.

The push was a bit more forceful than she had intended, and the door slammed against the wall, bringing the conversation to an abrupt halt. Velanna stood on the threshold, fists clenched, drawing on every scrap of defiance she could muster as four pairs of surprised human eyes locked on her.

Nathaniel, sitting at the table with his nephew balanced on his knee, recovered first.

"Velanna?"

His voice was almost disbelieving, as though she were a spirit sent from the Fade to play tricks on his eyes. "I…what are you doing here?"

Her heart slammed against her ribcage, and her fingernails bit deeper into her palms. It took every ounce of willpower she possessed not to look away as she answered. "I changed my mind."

To Nathaniel's left, Delilah broke into a sudden flurry of movement, dark hair whipping around her face as she jumped up from her spot at the table. "Blessed Andraste, where are my manners?" she exclaimed. "You must be hungry after so long a journey. Dinner's just begun cooking; I'll go and prepare another portion." She swooped over to her brother, plucking the child from his knee and hefting the boy into her arms.

"Albert?" she continued, shooting her husband a look and making unsubtle jerking motions with her head. "Some help, please?"

Within seconds the room was cleared, leaving Velanna alone with Nathaniel. She clasped her hands behind her back and shifted in place, glancing over toward the firmly closed side door where Delilah and her family had disappeared. In spite of herself, she felt a grudging trickle of admiration for the woman's efficiency.

Thick silence settled over the room, punctuated only by the scraping of Nathaniel's chair against the floor as he rose. Velanna stepped further inside and fumbled for the edge of the still wide-open outer door, pushing it closed until she heard the soft click of the latch.

Nathaniel took a step toward her, clearing his throat. He folded his arms over his chest, then settled them by his sides, fingers fidgeting. "I…I'm glad you came, Velanna."

She blinked. "Really?"

"Really." He took another small step forward. Now that she was closer, Velanna could see the shadows beneath his eyes, lending him an almost haggard appearance. She supposed she looked no better.

"I owe you an apology," he said.

She drew a sharp breath. "Nathaniel—"

"Wait." He held up a hand. "Please, just let me finish, and then I promise you can deliver the tongue-lashing I so richly deserve." He managed a strained smile. "It's funny, I was actually planning to set out for the Keep tomorrow morning. Delilah wanted me to stay until the end of the month, but I just couldn't remain here with things…not right between us. In truth, I've been miserable since I arrived, and it's not fair to either Delilah or to you to just let things fester."

His eyes left hers and traveled along the floor. "I've thought a lot about what you said, and you were right. I don't know what it's like to be an elf among humans. I can never fully understand what you and your people have been through, and it was arrogant and callous of me to dismiss your concerns out of hand."

He drew a deep breath, releasing it slowly. "I lost sight of how difficult it's been for you to trust and accept even one human, let alone a whole family. I pushed you when I should have listened, and I apologize. I don't want to take you for granted, my—my lady."

He met her gaze then, his expression a mix of apprehension and hope. Velanna drew her arms around herself, biting down on the inside of her lower lip.

"I wish that you would have told me when I—what was it? 'Say things that only a barbarian raised in a forest would say'? Contrary to what some may believe, I won't explode with rage at the slightest hint of criticism."

A pained spasm crossed his face, and he raised his hand as though to touch her before thinking better of it. "I hope you know that I didn't truly mean those things. It's no excuse, I know, but if I could take them back, I would. I—"

He broke off with a small chuckle. "Of course sometimes you say things that aggravate me, but that's just part of marriage. I know there are times I make you want to rip out your hair by the handful."

She couldn't help but smile at that. "You do."

"I was angry," he said softly, his expression growing serious once more. "My mother used to tell me that people say terrible things in anger, and she was right." He shook his head, briefly scrubbing his hand over his face. "I hope you can forgive me."

Velanna looked down, watching her toe try to stab through the floorboards. "I…suppose I owe you an apology as well. It was…" she swallowed, "irrational of me to demand that you keep your sister and her family completely separate from the rest of your life. And if anyone spoke about my sister or my people the way I did about your family, I would be _furious_. Besides…"

She glanced at his face before returning her gaze to the floor. "If your sister truly put beetles in your bed as a child, I suppose she can't be all _that_ bad."

Nathaniel laughed, and Velanna felt his fingers beneath her chin, gently tilting her head up to face him.

"It appears there's blame enough for both of us to share," he said.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Well, I couldn't let you take _all_ of it for yourself. That would just be selfish, now wouldn't it?"

He laughed again, and held out his hand to her.

"Will you let me introduce you to my sister properly?"

For just this once, she gave in to the silly romantic impulse and let her fingers twine with his. "I will."


	9. Tainted

**A/N:** First of all, my belated apologies for any confusion regarding the time jumps in this fic! Since this is more a series of loosely interconnected moments rather than a story with one continuous plot, sometimes I take the liberty of jumping ahead a year or a few, which is what happened in the last chapter. There will probably be some more of that later on, so I'll try to do a better job making it clear in future chapters.

On that note, this chapter takes place almost directly after the previous one, so no fast-forwarding this time! Again, sorry for the confusion.

* * *

><p>Delilah Howe wasn't quite sure what to make of her new sister-in-law.<p>

Nathaniel's disposition had improved since her sudden arrival, that much was certain. The deep, troubled lines had eased from his face, and his lengthy despondent silences disappeared, reverting to his usual stoic-yet-sensible demeanor. He had never been an overly demonstrative man, but Delilah knew him well enough to catch the subtle hints of relief and affection as she watched him interact with his wife. Each small gesture—the softening of his eyes when he glanced at her, the brush of his fingers on her arm—spoke volumes to Delilah's sharp, sisterly eye.

Velanna, on the other hand, was like a closed and locked door.

She stood near the kitchen table, her posture so stiff it looked to Delilah as though she might fall over in a brisk wind. One hand was curled around a glass half-full of water—she'd refused anything stronger—while the other kept straying toward a nearby chair, as though she wanted to relax but was unsure if she was welcome to touch the furniture. Her gaze was riveted on the floor in front of her, where Nathaniel sat cross-legged with his nephew, helping him set up his toy soldiers for what looked to be a battle of great importance.

A shriek of childish laughter came from the floor as the boy bashed two of the small figures together, and something unidentifiable flashed across Velanna's face. Delilah bit her lower lip, worrying it between her teeth.

The elven woman had been nothing but stiffly polite ever since her arrival, but it was clear she was ill at ease. Her features seemed permanently frozen in a neutral expression so controlled it could only be a mask, and she'd automatically recoiled whenever anyone but Nathaniel came within an arm's length of her. Delilah found herself unsure whether to feel sympathy for Velanna's discomfort, or to wonder if Nathaniel had taken leave of his senses to fall for someone so cold.

Velanna's expression flickered again as she continued to watch the impromptu toy battle, and Delilah drew a deep breath, stepping forward to seize the opening.

"You look rather quizzical," she said, keeping her voice light and unassuming. It was a stretch of the truth at best, but it would serve as an inoffensive conversation opener. She hoped.

Velanna gave a visible start, her head snapping around. Her eyes looked almost owlish, too big for her slender face.

"What do you mean?" she demanded. A light pink flush colored her ears almost instantly, and Delilah took care not to let her eyes linger on the pointed tips.

"When you were watching them," she replied, trying a smile as she gestured toward Nathaniel and her son.

"Oh," Velanna said. "Well, it's…there aren't many children at the Keep."

"I can imagine," Delilah nodded. "And I suppose even if there were, he surely wouldn't get down on the floor and play with them. It might ruin his dark and brooding image." She chuckled. "This must be a new side of him for you."

To her surprise, Velanna's ears flushed an even darker red, and she realized too late that the statement could be interpreted as a criticism, a smug reminder that _you may be his wife, but I'm his sister. I know him better than you._

She drew a sharp breath, opening her mouth to clarify her meaning, but Velanna spoke before she could form the words.

"I suppose it is," the elf murmured. Her voice was soft, but not angry, and Delilah let out a quiet sigh of relief.

The silence that followed was reasonably comfortable, broken by occasional playful noises from the floor. To Delilah's pleasant surprise, Velanna seemed to relax a little, her fingers loosening their death grip on the glass and her shoulders lowering a fraction.

Encouraged by the signs, Delilah wet her lips, looking back and forth between her sister-in-law and her son before she spoke again.

"I know it's really none of my business," she began, "but I can't help but be curious, and I suppose it's an affectionate sister's job to be nosy, isn't it?" She gave another chuckle, hoping it didn't sound too nervous. "I was wondering…are you and my brother planning on starting a family? Maybe not right now, of course—I know you're both very busy—but in the foreseeable future, perhaps? I'm sure my boy would love to have a little cousin as a playmate," she finished, sending an indulgent smile in her son's direction.

Velanna grew very still, the tension returning to her limbs, and Delilah felt a cold feeling settle in the pit of her stomach. She braced herself for the elf to snap at her, to say no, it _wasn't_ any of her business, and she could go stick her nose somewhere—

"We can't," Velanna said.

Delilah blinked, her tumbling thoughts screeching to a halt. In the back of her mind, she realized her face was likely frozen somewhere between a polite smile and pure surprise. "I beg your pardon?"

"Grey Wardens can't have children together," Velanna went on. Her mouth was pinched, but her voice remained even. "At least not without magic. Or a miracle. It's…difficult to explain why. Just call it a side effect, I suppose."

"Oh, Maker." Delilah raised a hand to her mouth, the chill in her stomach turning to a horrid churning sensation. "I—I'm so sorry. I had no idea."

"It is what it is." Velanna folded her arms, a muscle twitching in her cheek. "Nathaniel has been less than forthcoming about what exactly the life of a Grey Warden entails, I see."

Delilah spread her hands, her mind still whirling. "He never tells me _anything_. I try to refrain from prying, but—" She broke off with an agitated sigh. "I just can't help but worry about him."

She found herself surprised yet again when a pang of emotion crossed Velanna's face, making her appear almost wistful.

"He is lucky to have you," she said, her voice soft. She looked down at the tabletop, her distant gaze speaking of old and painful memories.

"I…" Delilah cast around a moment, searching for a suitable response. "Thank you," she finally said, though the words seemed somehow inadequate.

Velanna only nodded, setting her glass down.

"If you'll excuse me," she said, her voice still holding the same muted tone. "I need some air."

"Of course," Delilah said. She stepped aside, watching the other woman stride across the room and disappear through the front door.

* * *

><p>Dusk was beginning to fall by the time Nathaniel stepped outside, transforming the sky into a canvas of reds and purples streaked with the sun's dying rays. He found Velanna watching the sunset by the edge of the small garden, her palms propped on the fence post. Her head turned slightly as he approached, eyes flicking to his before returning to the horizon.<p>

"Everything all right?" Nathaniel asked, keeping his voice low.

She nodded. "I just needed to get out for a little while."

He reached out to rest his hands on the fence next to hers, their fingers just barely touching. "Delilah seemed to think she had upset you."

"No. I've just been thinking." She tilted her head up to look at him, the fading sunlight glinting in her hair. "Does it bother you that we'll never have children?"

Nathaniel blinked, his hands dropping from the fence as he turned to face her. "Is that what the two of you were talking about?"

"Yes."

"I see." He crossed his arms over his chest, remembering his nephew's unruly mop of hair and quick laughter. "It would be a lie to say that I never think about it. Had the Howes remained nobles, I suppose I would have had a duty to carry on the family name. No chance of that anymore, what with my brother dead, my being a Grey Warden, and Delilah's son taking her husband's name. But there are more important things to consider than family legacies, now."

Velanna was watching him closely. "Such as?"

"That 'Grey Warden' isn't the best career to mix with raising children," he said. "Between the taint, the Calling, and thousands of encounters with darkspawn, the chances of the child prematurely losing one or both parents would be much higher than most. Even if it were possible, I don't know if it would be fair to put children through that."

Velanna nodded, her eyes following the sun's path as it dipped toward the horizon. "True. An orphan's life isn't an easy one."

Nathaniel leaned back against the fence next to her, peering down at her face. "You seem unusually reticent this evening. You have opinions on this subject, I'm sure."

Her eyes sharpened on his face. "I'm not sure if they're opinions you'll like."

He laughed aloud at that. "At what point in the history of our relationship has that ever stopped you?"

Velanna raised her chin, trying to suppress a smile and failing. "I'm just giving you fair warning!" She paused, expression sobering. "I don't want another fight."

"Nor do I." He leaned down to press a quick kiss to her forehead. "Very well. Consider me properly warned."

She blew out a deep breath. "I always thought I would have children. Growing up, it wasn't even in question—it can't be, for a Dalish, because we're so few in number. I used to envision myself passing my heritage on to my children, teaching them all our ways, our history and traditions. Part of me will always regret that I lost that chance when I became a Grey Warden. But the rest of me is relieved."

His gray eyes were steady on her face. "Because I'm human."

She nodded and looked past him, as though the sunset had all of a sudden grown immeasurably more fascinating. "I love you," she said, her tone almost grudging, "but I could never be with you if there was a chance we could have a child together. The taboo against interbreeding with humans is too ingrained to overcome. If I gave birth to a human child, I—" Her face twisted into an expression that was equal parts pain and revulsion. "I would never be able to look another elf in the eye again."

Nathaniel's face remained impassive aside from a quirk of one eyebrow. "Then the Grey Warden taint is a blessing in disguise, isn't it?"

"I suppose it is." She squared her shoulders, absently letting a flicker of magic run down one wrist, the nervous habit clashing with her defiant stance. "Does that make you angry?"

"Well, I doubt any man particularly enjoys hearing that his wife is repulsed by the thought of bearing his child," Nathaniel said dryly. "But no, I'm not angry. I knew about your culture before I married you."

"Good." She relaxed visibly, stepping forward to lean on the fencepost. Nathaniel slid his arm around her waist, and she allowed him to pull her close against his side.

"It's funny, isn't it?" she murmured after a moment. "Both of us so far removed from the paths we thought our lives would take."

Nathaniel smiled. "They say the Maker works in mysterious ways."

She snorted. "Then he has a twisted sense of humor, this Maker of yours."

"Indeed." His fingers trailed a slow, warm path up and down her back. "But somehow, I don't mind."


	10. Bittersweet

**A/N:** Just in case anyone is reading this who hasn't played Dragon Age II: Bethany Hawke is the younger sister of the DA II player character, and she can join the Grey Wardens under certain circumstances.

Sorry for the ridiculously disproportionate length of this chapter. It got away from me a little!

* * *

><p>Another sleepless night.<p>

The rain had been falling for at least two or three hours, its constant patter on the roof interrupted by an occasional rumble of faraway thunder. The usual morning sounds—muted conversation, splashing water, creaking footsteps—were just beginning to filter through the door, blending in with the rain's monotonous rhythm. On the far wall, a thin line of light appeared between the door and the ground, providing the room's only illumination.

Junior Wardens didn't get assigned to quarters with windows.

Bethany turned over on her side and let out a quiet sigh, adjusting the blanket over her shoulders. Across the room, bedsprings creaked as one of her roommates shifted positions, soft breathing turning to a rhythmic wheeze. Bethany's drifting mind sharpened on the sound, and she allowed herself a brief moment of envy for her fellow Wardens' lack of insomnia.

_Envy never solved anything_, whispered a gentle voice in her head, a voice that sounded suspiciously like her mother's. _All you can do is make the best of what you have. _

A sudden pang of homesickness threatened to choke her, and she pushed herself upright, leaning her elbows on her knees and cradling her head in her hands. After a moment, the tightness in her chest eased, and she blinked away the hot tears prickling at her eyes. Not for the first time, the irony of her situation struck her, and her mouth twisted in a humorless smile.

She'd hoped that returning to Ferelden would help ease the blow of her involuntary entry into the Wardens. Instead she'd found that, native country or not, it was hard to feel like she'd come home when her family was still in the Free Marches.

She climbed out of bed and dressed quickly in the dark, one hand groping for her clothes while the other rubbed the bleariness from her eyes. Her throat was parched, her mouth tasted like old carpet, and her head felt like someone had opened up her skull and replaced her brain with cotton.

Light spilled into the room as she pulled the door open, and she squinted, resisting the urge to shield her eyes as she started down the hallway. A wave of dizziness tugged at her, and she fought to keep her stride steady, sending a silent prayer to the Maker that today's schedule wouldn't be too strenuous. She was far from lazy, but lengthy training sessions became twice as difficult when she was running on little to no sleep.

But the Maker, as usual, had a strange sense of humor.

The sharp crack of a slamming door startled Bethany from her lethargic state, and she lengthened her stride, rounding the corner and stepping into the adjacent common area. Across the room, an unfamiliar young man stood just in front of the door, panting heavily, legs wobbling under him as he fought to keep his balance. Blood dripped from his hands and armor, marring the Warden insignia and leaving a sticky red trail as he tottered toward her, raising one arm to smear the mingled sweat and gore spattered across his face.

"Maker's breath!" Bethany sprang forward, insomnia instantly forgotten. "Are you all right?"

He drew a long, gasping breath, throat working uselessly for a moment before his voice returned.

"I'm not hurt," he managed. "The blood isn't mine."

"Whose is it, then?" Bethany pressed. "What's happened?"

Around her, a small commotion rose as other early-rising Wardens began to crowd around, limbs jostling and alarmed questions tumbling together. Someone produced a mug of water, and the man snatched it up, drinking greedily and leaving bloody fingerprints on the rough leather surface.

"Our party was ambushed," he continued, chest heaving. "Two are dead, three more wounded. I ran ahead to alert the healers."

"Move aside!"

The commanding voice cut through the murmurs and confusion, and Bethany scrambled backward with the parting crowd. An older woman strode through the resulting path, tall and stern in appearance, with gray-streaked dark hair pulled back in a single braid and a well-worn mage's staff strapped across her back. Bethany recognized her as one of the Keep's senior healers, though she was unable to put a name to the face.

The healer laid a steadying hand on the young Warden's shoulder, tilting her head to look him in the eye. "You've done well, lad," she said, her soothing tone speaking to years of experience in dealing with skittish patients. "How far out are they?"

"Uh…" The man squinted, sucking in another deep breath. "Several miles, at least. They're setting a slow pace. Some of the wounded are unable to walk."

"Then you have given us time to prepare," the healer said, giving him a pat on his armored shoulder. "Go to the infirmary so one of my staff can have a look at you."

She waited for his stuttering nod before sweeping around to face the still-murmuring crowd.

"You, and you!" She pointed, her tone turning brisk. "Run to the infirmary and prepare hot water, bandages and poultices. And for Andraste's sake, someone go and wake the rest of the healers. We cannot afford laziness today if we hope to save our people."

The muttering grew to a clamor as the crowd began to break apart, voices and footsteps echoing through the cavernous space. Bethany turned away, letting herself be swept along with the bustle before the healer's voice pierced through the noise.

"You, girl."

The no-nonsense words froze Bethany in her tracks as effectively as an icy spell. She turned, forcing down a burst of trepidation, and met the healer's gaze.

"You're a mage, aren't you?" the older woman asked, sweeping her with an appraising stare.

The automatic denial was halfway out of Bethany's mouth before she caught herself, stumbling over her words. A lifetime of concealing her abilities from templars' watchful eyes was not easily overcome. "I—yes, serah."

"Can you heal?"

"A little." Bethany wrapped her arms around herself, trying to ward off a sudden chill that prickled through her robes. "But I'm not exactly proficient."

"That's all right." The healer gave a sharp nod. "Even a little skill is better than none, and we can use all the help we can get. What is your name?"

She swallowed. "Bethany Hawke."

"I am Marta." The healer made a gesture of dismissal. "Fetch your staff and then go to the infirmary and make yourself useful."

"Yes, serah," Bethany murmured. She watched as Marta turned and strode away, and her heart skittered uncomfortably in her chest.

* * *

><p>The day passed in a dizzying blur. By the time Bethany found a chance to stand back and catch her breath, she was startled to glance out the infirmary window and see darkness spreading across the sky in shades of gray and purple. She absently licked her parched lips as she watched clouds gather above the distant treetops, and as her head buzzed with exhaustion she was struck by the distinct feeling that when she looked back on this day, she would remember very little of it.<p>

A gentle elbow to the ribs jolted her from her daze, and she jumped as one of the other healer mages pushed a towel into her hands.

"You're dripping," the healer said, a hint of sympathy in her gaze as she jerked her head toward Bethany's hands.

"Oh." Bethany glanced down, blinking. Blood from one of the injured Wardens trailed over her knuckles and gathered in the creases of her palms, rolling down her fingers to splatter onto the floor. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right," the other mage said. "Just be careful. Sometimes the floor gets slippery. Now come on, Marta's not finished with us yet."

Bethany dutifully wiped her hands and trailed behind the other mage as they crossed the room to where Marta stood, leaning over one of the injured, unconscious Wardens. Her face was grave as she gently probed the edges of his wound, an angry red gash that cut diagonally across his abdomen and up into his chest.

"It'll only be by Andraste's grace if he makes it through the night," she muttered as they approached. The shadows lengthened on her face, and it seemed to Bethany that she looked a good decade older than she had appeared only hours before. "The Warden-Commander's not going to be happy about this."

Bethany gave herself a tiny shake, willing herself not to show her fatigue as she looked down at the Warden. "Why? Is he someone important?"

The other mage barked out a laugh, eyes widening as she shot Bethany a sidelong glance. "You really are new here, aren't you? That's Nathaniel Howe, one of Ferelden's senior Wardens as well as a personal friend to the Warden-Commander."

"Howe?" Bethany echoed. "As in…?"

"Yes, one of _those_ Howes," the healer confirmed. "Son of the late arl, in fact. This entire complex used to belong to him and his family. But don't worry," she added. "He's nothing like his father."

"Oh." Bethany peered down at the unconscious Warden again, watching his chest rise and fall with his shallow breaths. "I didn't know the arl had any surviving relatives at all, let alone in the Wardens."

"It was either the Wardens or the hangman's noose," the other mage said with a nod. "Or so the story goes, anyway."

"All right, that's enough gossip." Marta's tone was weary as she straightened, flicking her fingers at the other mage. "Go and check on the others, and then you can leave."

The healer gave a quick bow and moved to obey. Bethany straightened and faced Marta, holding her eyes open with a conscious effort.

Marta's face softened into a smile. "You did very well today, Bethany. You clearly have extensive first aid experience, and I never once saw you panic or fall apart under pressure—and Maker knows, sometimes a cool head is even more valuable than magical ability."

Bethany ducked her head slightly, feeling herself warm at the praise. "Thank you. I…used to travel with my sister quite often, before I—before I joined the Wardens. We were always getting into scrapes and other kinds of trouble, so I learned fairly quickly how to make good use of bandages and poultices." She swallowed, clamping down on the sudden lump in her throat as the familiar homesickness crept back over her.

"Well, your experience certainly served you well today," Marta was saying, and Bethany forced herself to concentrate on the words, pushing away the mental images of her family's smiling faces. "In fact, I've arranged for you to continue helping me here in the infirmary, at least for the foreseeable future. We've been short-staffed recently, which is partly why it was so hectic today—we only have so many mages, and half of them are usually out on missions at one time or another, so an extra pair of hands as capable as yours would be welcomed." She paused, evaluating Bethany with her sharp eyes. "Does that sound agreeable to you?"

Even if it didn't, Bethany suspected she had little choice in the matter. "Yes, serah."

"Good." Marta reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder, the touch brief but comforting. "Then I'll see you tomorrow morning. If these three survive the night, they'll be in your care." She gestured to indicate Nathaniel and the other two injured Wardens. "With help from the rest of us as needed, of course. Now, go and get some sleep. You look as though you're about to collapse."

Bethany managed a wan smile in response, then turned to leave the infirmary, heading back in the direction of her quarters. She was nearly asleep by the time she undressed and fell into bed, and for the first time in weeks, the Maker saw fit to bless her with a full night's rest.

She didn't even dream of darkspawn.

* * *

><p>In the time that it took her to walk from her quarters to the infirmary the next morning, she was stopped by no fewer than five Wardens—most of whom she couldn't remember ever having met before—all anxiously inquiring after the state of Nathaniel Howe's health.<p>

"You're quite the popular fellow, aren't you?" she asked his still unconscious form as she entered the infirmary, crossing the room to his bed. "Still breathing, I see."

Predictably, he gave no response, and Bethany sighed at her own foolishness as she set to work cleaning her hands. If this tall, dark Warden awoke to find her prattling on as though enamored with the sound of her own voice, she would likely feel very silly indeed.

Seeing him now for the first time in the full light of day, Bethany had a sudden feeling that she knew why most of the Wardens who'd stopped her in the hallway had been women. Even unconscious and gravely wounded, Nathaniel was striking: broad-shouldered and rippling with muscle, his long arms toned from his mastery of the bow and arrow, his features somehow appearing both strong and gentle. His torso was mapped with scars of all shapes and sizes, running along his skin and disappearing beneath swatches of dark hair.

"Well, when you're better, you'll just have another one to add to your collection," Bethany said, the sentence trailing off into an annoyed little squeak as she realized she'd spoken aloud once again.

Blood had seeped through the bandages wrapped around his midsection, and Bethany bit her lip as she reached for the material, feeling the warmth emanating off his skin.

"Stop acting like a silly little girl," she chastised herself in a whisper, and began to unwind the bandage.

It wasn't as though she hadn't dressed wounds before. Her sister's numerous and varied misadventures had provided plenty of opportunities to become proficient in the art. Once she'd even bandaged Fenris' shoulder after a particularly nasty Lowtown skirmish, with the elf glaring daggers at her and muttering Arcanum curses questioning the parentage of all mages the entire time.

_That_ had certainly been a pleasant experience.

Still, it seemed different somehow, to have such intimate contact when the subject was unconscious and still rather than squirming and swearing. With a start, Bethany realized she was blushing.

"Oh, for Andraste's sake," she hissed, her hands quickening their pace. "You're being completely irrational."

She sobered at the sight of the uncovered wound, still red and seeping, and there was very little eroticism in the strong-smelling salve she smeared across the injury before covering it with a fresh bandage.

Yet she found herself unable to resist the impulse to run her fingers through a lock of his dark hair, freeing it from its tangle of dirt and dried blood.

* * *

><p>Days turned to weeks, and still Nathaniel did not wake, though the Keep continued to buzz with talk of him. Bethany heard tales of his brave exploits, his smoldering demeanor, and his courtly noble-born manners alike, and found herself more and more eager to spend time in the infirmary with each passing day. Her mood began to improve, her thoughts strayed less to her absent family, and even her insomnia began to disappear.<p>

She found herself humming under her breath late one afternoon as she bustled around the infirmary, glances straying to Nathaniel every few moments out of habit, wondering—not for the first time—what color his eyes might be.

Brown, she supposed, to go with his dark hair.

She stepped up to his bedside to adjust his bandage again, fingers skimming across the broad expanse of his chest, and a flicker of motion caught her peripheral vision.

His hand was moving.

For a second Bethany could only stare, wondering if she'd dreamed this moment so many times that her imagination was merely running away with her again, until she found her wrist encircled by a surprisingly strong grip. She stood motionless, lips parted, heart hammering wildly in her chest as she watched his eyes flutter open.

_Gray, not brown_, she noted in an absent corner of her mind.

He made a hoarse sound that stopped short of forming an actual word, his head swiveling back and forth as he took in his surroundings. He blinked twice, slowly, some of the bleariness gradually clearing from his gaze, then braced his free hand against the bed as though preparing to push himself upright.

"No, don't move!" Bethany suddenly found herself able to command her limbs and tongue again, and she darted forward to lay her palm against his shoulder, gently pushing him back down onto the pallet. In the back of her mind, she was very aware that his other hand still grasped her wrist, the hardened calluses brushing against her skin and sending tingles up and down her arm.

"You were injured while on a mission," she continued, removing her hand from his shoulder with some reluctance. "You've been healing nicely, but you could tear the wound back open if you move too soon."

His eyes focused on her face for the first time, holding her gaze for a long moment before his fingers loosened around her wrist. She tried not to feel a prickle of regret as his hand drifted back to his side.

"What happened?" he rasped, his voice thick from weeks of disuse.

"I don't know the exact details, but it was an ambush, an overwhelming one," Bethany said. Her hands were suddenly restless, and she folded them in front of her, sternly admonishing herself not to fidget and twirl her hair like an addlepated teenager. "One of your party ran ahead to the Keep to alert us that you were coming."

He was nodding as she spoke, his eyes squeezing shut in concentration. "I remember," he said. "The others…are they all right?"

"Several of them didn't make it." Her voice was halting, and she realized with a sudden pang that she didn't even know the names of the Wardens who had died. "I…I don't know which ones. I'm sorry."

He let out a long, scratching breath, raising one hand to briefly press his fingertips against his eyelids. When he opened his eyes again, his composure was in place, his gaze clear.

"Forgive me," he said, meeting her eyes again. His long-awaited voice was everything she'd imagined, deep and rich and husky, and the sound of it was sending the most inconvenient sparks throughout her body. "I don't believe I've made your acquaintance."

"Oh! Of course." She suppressed a nervous laugh, sending a fervent prayer to the Maker that He would keep her from blushing. "My name is Bethany, Bethany Hawke. I transferred to this base not more than two months ago, and I've been—" She drew a quick breath, the words _taking care of you_ lingering on her lips. "—I've been assisting Marta with treating you and the other injured Wardens," she finished instead, hoping the words didn't sound quite as rushed and breathless to his ears as they did to hers.

"Then I owe you thanks, Bethany," he said, and smiled at her, and Bethany couldn't stop herself from beaming back at him.

Then his eyes left hers, and he craned his head, scanning the room from the door to the opposite wall. "Is Velanna here?" he asked.

Bethany tilted her head, her smile still in place even as she furrowed her brow. "I'm sorry, who?"

He looked back at her. "My wife."

Bethany blinked.

_Wife_.

The room seemed to spin without warning, spiraling around her like a child's toy, and this time she knew there was no stopping the wave of scarlet heat rising from her neck and spreading over her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," she said again, her voice faint. "I'm afraid I don't know. I'll go and find Marta and ask her for you. Excuse me."

She turned and stumbled toward Marta's office without waiting for a response, her arms dangling at her sides like useless blocks of wood. The entire Keep suddenly seemed to press down upon her, and she could hear a vague roaring in her ears.

_Maker, how could I have been such a fool?_

* * *

><p>It was hours later before she forced herself back to the infirmary, when the flames of mortification had faded from her face and her self-castigations had begun to repeat themselves in her mind.<p>

She paused outside the door, deliberately relaxing her shoulders and arranging her face into the most neutral expression she could muster. Perhaps—perhaps she'd been lucky, for once, and Nathaniel hadn't taken notice of the way she'd blushed and stammered and fled like a startled cat at the mention of his wife. Perhaps if she acted entirely normal, the whole thing would be quick to fade from memory, and she could pretend that this silly, absurd, _stupid_ little crush had never lodged itself in her heart.

She released a final deep, steadying breath, and pushed the door open.

It creaked on its hinges, as always, and Marta looked up at the noise, gesturing at Bethany from where she sat across the room.

"There you are!" Her hand windmilled in an impatient gesture, then pointed at a pile of white cloths heaped on an adjacent table. "Where have you been, child? Come over here and help me fold these bandages."

Bethany ducked her head and did as she was told, fishing a strip of cloth from the pile. "I'm sorry. I…needed some air."

Marta made a resigned clicking noise. "Next time you require a break, make it minutes instead of hours, hmm?"

"Yes, serah." She smoothed down the folded piece of fabric, pressing on the creases, and her gaze darted involuntarily to Nathaniel's pallet.

She cleared her throat. "How is he?"

"He was in a good deal of pain, so I gave him a potion," Marta said, adding another folded bandage to the sizable pile next to her. "He'll be asleep for hours yet."

Bethany made a murmuring noise and lapsed back into silence, chewing on her lower lip as she continued folding.

The menial task did little to distract her from her roiling thoughts.

"He asked about his wife," she found herself blurting out.

"Mmm." Marta didn't even glance up. "Velanna. She isn't here right now."

The sheer apathy in her tone made Bethany's toes curl in her boots, and before she could attempt to tighten her grasp on her emotions, the simmering frustration welled up and boiled over.

"I can't believe it's been weeks, and no one ever once mentioned that he was married," she burst out.

This time Marta looked up, sending her a sharp glance out the corner of her eye, and Bethany swallowed, hoping she had successfully filtered the bitterness from her tone.

"Well…" Marta began after a moment, plucking another bandage from the pile. "Nathaniel is a good man with many admirable qualities. Unfortunately, his taste in women isn't among them."

Bethany felt her eyes widen and her jaw go slack with surprise, and Marta winced.

"I shouldn't have said that," she amended, grimacing at herself. "It was…unkind."

She sighed and leaned back in her chair, picking up a nearby mug and taking a long swig of its contents. "Velanna is…" Her face twisted into a thoughtful expression. "How best to put this? 'Her own woman,' I suppose. She's an elf—one of the Dalish, to be precise. Do you know anything of them?"

"A little," Bethany said, her mind flashing back to the journey she'd taken with her sister to Sundermount, and the Dalish clan they'd encountered there. "They're a proud people. Reclusive."

"An apt description." Marta nodded. "They also harbor a strong dislike for humans, as a general rule. With Velanna…well, it's less of a 'strong dislike' and more of an 'all-encompassing hatred.'"

"And yet she married a human?" Bethany glanced back at Nathaniel, unable to keep her puzzlement off her face.

Marta laughed. "Like I said. She's her own woman. She does what she damn well pleases, no matter how much or how little sense it makes." She leaned forward, picking up another bandage. "To be fair, I will say that she's made progress over the years. When she first came here, she was insufferable—could hardly even look at a human without murder in her eyes. Now, she's much more civilized. Still, she'll never be comfortable in the company of humans. Except for him, of course." She jerked a thumb in Nathaniel's direction. "Mostly, we just leave her be as much as possible, and she does the same with us. It's worked out to be the best arrangement for everyone."

Her gaze strayed to Nathaniel, eyes pensive. "I do sometimes wonder, when I see them together. But I suppose it takes all kinds. Perhaps he just saw something in her that the rest of us never bothered to look for."

Bethany tore her gaze from Nathaniel, realizing her hands had stalled and the bandage she held was wadded up in her lap. "Are they happy?" she ventured.

Marta gave another hearty laugh. "Oh, they bicker and make verbal jabs at each other like they've been married for decades instead of a mere handful of years. But it's their way of showing affection, I think. Anyway, you'll likely meet her soon enough, you lucky thing—I imagine she's on her way here as we speak. She's been on assignment in the Free Marches, but the Warden-Commander sent her a message after Nathaniel was injured."

Her nose wrinkled and her lips turned down as she spoke the last sentence, and Bethany raised an eyebrow. "You don't approve, I take it?"

"Well, I certainly don't make a habit of second-guessing the Hero of Ferelden's decisions," Marta said, her lips twitching. "But it's a simple fact that, as Wardens, we're encouraged to put our duties before our personal relationships. Ours is a task that must be done, no matter what befalls our families or our lovers."

She looked over at Nathaniel again, and it seemed to Bethany as though her gaze softened a little. "Still, I can see why the Warden-Commander made the decision she did. Velanna ought to have the chance to say goodbye, if nothing else."

The words sent a jolt of icy alarm through Bethany's system, and she couldn't suppress a small gasp. "What—what do you mean, 'say goodbye'? He's been getting better, hasn't he?"

"He has been improving, yes," Marta said. "For Andraste's sake, don't look so panicked. I'm not implying that he's going to drop dead any moment. But I've been a healer for many, many years, long enough to know that he isn't out of danger yet. The body is a strange and fickle thing, especially when it suffers a wound as great as his."

Bethany's hands twisted around the bandage she held, and she brought one thumb up to the corner of her mouth, absently biting down on the nail as she stared across the room at the unconscious dark-haired Warden.

Several moments passed before she registered the odd silence from Marta's side of the table, and she jerked her gaze away from Nathaniel, her breath catching in her throat as she realized Marta was watching her.

She met the elder healer's gaze, hardly daring to breathe as she waited, although unsure exactly what she was anticipating.

Then Marta sighed, leaning back in her chair.

"Forgive me, child. I should have foreseen this." Her voice was quiet, and a small, sad smile touched her lips. "I've nearly forgotten what it was like to be young."

For the second time in less than a day, Bethany felt prickling heat flood her cheeks.

"Oh, Maker, is it that obvious?" She clapped a hand to her face, her tone threaded with misery, shoulders hunched against Marta's gentle laughter. "I'm such an idiot—I'd never even _spoken_ to him until today. I feel like such a stupid little girl."

"Set your mind at ease, dear," Marta said, reaching across the table to pat Bethany's arm. "I only noticed because I'm a sharp-eyed old busybody. And you have no cause to feel foolish. It's certainly not the first time a healer's been sweet on a handsome, vulnerable man in her care, and I'm sure it won't be the last." She sobered. "Which, as I said, is why I should have known it might happen. If you want, I'll release you from tending to him. He's recovered enough that he shouldn't need round-the-clock observation anymore, and things are calm enough at the moment that I have enough healers freed up to help take over."

Bethany wet her lips, looking down at her hands twisting in her lap.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "I appreciate the offer, but I think I'd rather see this through."

"Are you certain?" Marta eyed her, concern in her gaze. "I don't want to see you rush into heartache."

"I'm certain." Bethany gave a small smile. "Back in the Free Marches, Stroud was always telling me not to let my emotions interfere with my duty." She swallowed. "This will give me some good practice."

"True enough." Marta gave her arm another pat before sitting back. "In that case, I'm proud of you."

She rose, bending down to pick up her small tower of folded bandages, and headed for the storage chest on the other side of the room. Bethany let her head tilt back on her shoulders, staring sightlessly upward as the weight of melancholy settled back on her like an anchor.

* * *

><p>The wind was howling, rain lashing against the Keep's windows when Velanna arrived several nights later.<p>

The infirmary was quiet and still, with most of the healers departed and the wounded settled for the night. Bethany was kneeling on the far side of the room, cleaning up the last remnants of an earlier spill when she heard the door creak open, followed by hasty footsteps and harsh, rapid breaths.

Her head jerked up, but she remained crouched as she watched the intruder all but sprint across the room, skidding to a halt at Nathaniel's bedside. The few lamps still lit provided just enough brightness for her to identify the figure as slight, elven, and female.

Bethany found herself biting down on her lower lip with enough force to hurt.

The elven woman had clearly made at least some attempt to dry herself off before coming to the infirmary, but her disheveled hair was plastered to her head and her sodden clothes still clung to her form. She was shivering violently as she looked down at Nathaniel, though whether the tremors were from the cold or from emotional turmoil, Bethany couldn't discern.

Less ambiguous was her pallor, her face white and drawn with anxiety, cheekbones protruding and darkness gathering in the hollows of her cheeks as though she hadn't eaten in days.

She reached out with quivering fingers to brush back a lock of Nathaniel's dark hair.

Bethany stood, letting herself slip into the light, and the elf reacted instantly, pivoting on her heel and throwing her hand up in a defensive posture. Crackling blue light pulsed between her fingers, illuminating the ferocity in her eyes.

"Who's there?" she demanded.

Bethany stepped forward, holding up both empty hands. "I'm just one of the healers," she said, forcing herself to keep her tone even. "You must be Velanna."

The magic winked out, and the elf lowered her hand, though none of the tension left her body. "And you are?"

"My name is Bethany." She took another few steps forward, stopping on the other side of Nathaniel's pallet. "I've been helping Marta tend the survivors from the ambush."

Velanna bowed her head, her shoulders finally sagging, and Bethany could read exhaustion in every line of her body. One of her hands stole forward to grip Nathaniel's, and the other reached out to brush the edge of the bandage swathing his abdomen.

"How is he?" she asked, her voice deflated.

"He's getting better," Bethany said. "Marta says he could still take a turn for the worse, which is why we're keeping him here, but he's resting and healing. He's been drifting in and out of consciousness for the past few days." She paused, pressing her lips together. "He asks for you whenever he wakes."

Velanna squeezed her eyes shut and whispered something in the Dalish tongue, clasping Nathaniel's slack hand in both her own and lifting it to her face. Bethany wasn't sure if the sudden pang that shot through her was sympathy, envy, or sorrow.

Somehow, this small, dripping wet, miserable woman wasn't quite the diabolical monster she'd been half-expecting.

"I'm just about to leave for the night," she said, keeping her voice hushed. "Is there anything I can…?"

Velanna roused herself, looking down at the small puddle forming under her feet. "I should dry off," she muttered, as though only now noticing the raindrops and goosebumps that rippled across her bare arms.

"Here." Bethany pulled a towel from one of the storage chests and handed it to the elf. Velanna accepted it with a nod, dragging it roughly across her skin.

"I'll…leave you with him," Bethany said, shoving the words out past the tightness in her throat.

Velanna gave another distracted nod, and Bethany turned toward the door and slipped quietly into the hallway, making her way to her quarters and falling into bed.

She stared into the darkness for hours before sleep finally came.

* * *

><p>When she trudged into the infirmary the next morning, the first thing she noticed was Velanna, fast asleep at Nathaniel's bedside with her legs drawn up under her and her head resting against his arm. Her hair was dried and matted, her eyes sunken in her face and her lips parted in sleep.<p>

"Been like that all night, best I can tell," came Marta's voice, and Bethany jumped, her eyes darting across the room to where the elder healer was leaning over another patient. "I figured it was best to leave her—I didn't feel like losing any fingers this morning. She'll have quite the crick in her neck when she wakes up, though."

She chortled to herself as she straightened and moved on into her office, obviously pleased at the thought. Bethany watched her go before carefully stepping around to the other side of Nathaniel's pallet, trying not to jostle him as she reached forward to check his bandage.

Velanna woke anyway, raising one hand to cover her eyes as they squinted open, then widened as she pulled herself to her feet. She swayed dangerously with the sudden movement, grasping the edge of the bed as she fought to maintain her balance.

"Are you all right?" Bethany began to reach out before faltering halfway through, guessing that Velanna would reject any help offered by a human. "When was the last time you ate?"

"Creators, I don't know." She pressed her fingers to her temples, rocking on the balls of her feet. "It hardly matters. My stomach is all in knots, anyway."

"You should at least drink something." Bethany closed her fingers around a mug, filling it with water and holding it out to the elf. "Here. You'll do Nathaniel more harm than good if he wakes up to find you collapsed from dehydration."

Velanna growled, but took the cup without comment, throwing back the contents in an impatient gulp.

Minutes ticked by, dragging into hours as Bethany went about the tasks that had started to become routine. Velanna kept her vigil by Nathaniel's side, never moving except to occasionally pace back and forth in front of the bed.

"Why isn't he awake yet?" she finally burst out, her gaze almost pleading as she looked at Bethany. "There must be _something_ you can do."

Bethany watched her helplessly, a sick feeling lodging in the back of her throat. "I'm sorry. I've only been a Warden for a few months, and I've been here in the infirmary an even shorter time than that. I can go get Marta if—"

"Don't bother." Velanna made a harsh sound in her throat. "I know what she thinks of me." She dropped back into her chair next to Nathaniel's bed, resting her head in her palms.

"Creators, _please_," she whispered, the words barely audible. "You already took my parents, my clan, my sister. He's all I have left."

Bethany went still as she listened to the other woman's prayer, faintly astonished at the sudden twinge of empathy that tightened her chest.

Velanna leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, her nails digging grooves in her skin. "Curse it," she murmured. "This is why they always say Wardens should focus on nothing but duty. And I ignored them and rushed blindly in, like always. Why do I never learn _anything_?"

Bethany wet her lips, unease souring the back of her throat. "Well…surely just because we're Wardens doesn't mean we have to throw away the rest of our lives, does it? The world is a dangerous place for everyone, after all, not just us." Her eyes grew hooded, memories of Father and Carver playing in her mind.

Velanna's laugh was tinged with bitterness. "Yes, but a Warden's world is especially perilous. Our lives are short and dark and filled with darkspawn. And so they tell us to leave our families behind and devote ourselves to nothing but duty." She reached up to Nathaniel's face, fingers brushing over his temple. "It almost makes me wish I could have gone on hating him."

For a moment her eyes were distant, and then she seemed to return to the present, expression growing wary as she looked at Bethany. "I don't know why I'm telling you this," she muttered. "I'm sure you care nothing for the problems of a bitter, complaining elf."

"That isn't true," Bethany said, surprising herself once again. "You're the first Warden I've met who's talked of something other than duty. I'd begun to wonder if the Joining is supposed to be akin to becoming Tranquil—if Wardens are meant to cease _feeling_ and simply throw ourselves at the tasks given to us until there's nothing left. Because…"

She felt tears welling up and forced them down, taking a quick swipe at her eyes. "Because I don't know if I can do that. Ever since my Joining I've been so miserable and lonely and homesick and I miss my family—"

Her throat closed, cutting off the words, and she blinked away the fresh onset of tears, waiting for her voice to regain its steadiness before she continued. "It helps to know that I'm not the only one who's…conflicted."

Velanna was silent a moment before she spoke, shifting a little in place. "I…would apologize for painting such a bleak picture of the Wardens for you, but I've never believed in softening difficult truths. It only does a disservice in the long run. But at the same time, I suppose it would be equally false to let you think that being a Warden is nothing but sheer drudgery." She looked back at Nathaniel, brushing at a spot on his bandaged midsection. "There can be happiness as well. You just have to learn to recognize it, and not resist it when you find it."

Silence fell, thoughtful rather than uncomfortable, broken only by Nathaniel's quiet, rhythmic breathing. After a moment Bethany shifted, smoothing down her skirt.

"For what it's worth," she said, hesitantly. "I…don't know your husband, but when Marta first assigned me to help take care of him, so many people came up to me wanting to know how he was, telling me stories about his bravery and nobility…" She trailed off, looking down at her fingers twined in her lap. "I don't think you have anything to regret on that score. He sounds like a good man."

She glanced up at Velanna's face, expecting a cool or hostile response to her presumption, but the elf wasn't looking at her.

"He is," she replied, her voice quiet.

To Bethany's relief, the expected tide of wistfulness wasn't quite as strong as it had been before. She closed her eyes, sending a short prayer of thanks to the Maker for small mercies.

"I should get back to work," she said, rising. "But thank you. I'm grateful for the honesty."

The elf waved a hand, a wry but genuine smile crossing her face. "You can always count on me for honesty."

Bethany found herself smiling back. "I'll remember that."

* * *

><p>It was evening when Nathaniel woke.<p>

Bethany looked up from the potion she was mixing as he stirred, the bed creaking beneath him, and Velanna sucked in a sharp breath.

A smile crossed his face before he even opened his eyes. "Velanna?"

"I'm here, you _seth'lin shem'alas_," she swore at him, her eyes bright as she seized his hand in both of hers, pressing it briefly against her mouth. "By all means, don't allow me to interrupt your beauty sleep."

He laughed and opened his eyes, lifting his other hand to brush it against her cheek, and Bethany forced herself not to look away.

Velanna was almost _glowing_, her earlier doubting anxiety vanished, and Bethany felt a bittersweet smile cross her face.

_There is hope_, she told herself, digging back into the potion with a new resolve. _Somehow_, _I'll find my own happiness._


	11. No Good Deed, part 1

**A/N:** This chapter is a sort of AU expanded version of Nathaniel's cameo quest in DA II. While the dialogue is not taken word-for-word, a few of the lines are similar to their in-game counterparts, so beware of spoilers. It's actually a little short on Nathaniel and Velanna, but it's partly setup for the next chapter, which will go back to focusing more on the two of them.

* * *

><p>This, Anders thought with a sigh as he dodged a whistling hurlock arrow, was exactly the sort of thing that had inspired him to leave the Grey Wardens in the first place. This sort of thing, and more specifically, this sort of <em>place<em>.

Anders hated the Deep Roads.

To be fair, it was a good bet there wasn't anyone in existence who actually _liked_ the Deep Roads. But during his time as a Warden, Anders had always had the sneaking suspicion that he hated them more than anyone else. All his fellow Wardens had simply set their jaws and plowed ahead in the name of duty, leaving Anders to contemplate the complete absence of anything good about this Maker-forsaken place.

Yet here he found himself again, on a mission to rescue _Nathaniel Howe_, of all people.

He heaved another sigh, casting an icy bolt in the direction of a charging darkspawn.

It wasn't as though he didn't feel sympathy for Delilah, Maker bless her. He supposed it must be difficult, being a Warden's relative left to wring hands and bite nails and wonder if your loved one might never return. But running off to the Deep Roads to battle darkspawn for weeks or months on end was what Wardens _did_. And even those who were skilled or lucky enough to survive missions into the Deep Roads would eventually find themselves back there again, this time for the _last_ time.

The grim implications of that fact had not escaped Anders' thoughts over the past several years.

Naturally, telling that—or some version of it—to Hawke had had absolutely no effect. One she got it into her head that she was going to help some poor soul in need, Andraste help anyone who tried to persuade her otherwise.

He sighed for a third time.

The woman fighting alongside him sent a glance in his direction as she drew another arrow from her quiver. "Hoping to knock the darkspawn down with the gale force of your sighing?" Hawke asked, her eyes glittering with amusement.

"It couldn't hurt," he shot back, but he couldn't help but return her smile. She often seemed to have that effect on him. Truth be told, she was about the _only_ thing that could coax a smile out of him, of late.

The last genlock fell with a squawk as Hawke's arrow embedded in its gullet, but Anders could tell the respite would be a brief one.

"More up ahead," he warned, drawing his sleeve across his sweat-beaded forehead. He could feel the grit scratch at his skin as the pervasive dirt smeared, and he grimaced.

Hawke tilted her head, her eyebrows drawing together. "Listen."

Anders stilled. The oppressive quiet—no whistling wind, no rustling grass or tree branches, no chirping animals—was just another entry on the list of things he hated about the Deep Roads, but as he strained his ears, he could make out the sounds of a nearby skirmish: metal clanging on metal and the brutish snarls of the darkspawn.

Hawke arched an eyebrow at him. "Suppose that's our missing Warden? The darkspawn aren't likely to be fighting themselves, after all."

Anders opened his mouth to tell her _actually, there was this one time_…but let it snap shut as he thought better of it. To explain the entire Architect situation would only waste valuable time. Not to mention that if he shared the tale, the Wardens would probably hunt him down and murder him in his sleep for spilling their secrets.

"After you," he gestured, shifting his grip on his staff.

The sounds grew louder and the taint within his blood quickened as they drew closer to the battle. Amidst the clashing of armor and weapons, he could just make out the constant, steady twanging of a bowstring.

At a cry from Hawke, their small party sprang through the narrow opening into the rust-colored expanse that lay beyond, eyes sharp and weapons drawn. A lone man, tall and dark-haired, stood wielding his bow against a small but not insignificant band of darkspawn. Hawke threw Anders a quick, questioning glance, and he nodded.

With their weapons added to the fray, the battle ended within seconds, and Nathaniel turned to face them at the sound of Hawke's call. His eyes lingered briefly on each of them in turn before settling back on Hawke.

"You're the Champion of Kirkwall, aren't you?" he asked. At her nod, he executed a small bow. "My thanks for the assistance."

"No problem at all," Hawke said in the cheery voice she often used after successful battles. Anders had long ago observed that killing things put her in an unusually good mood. "Your sister informed us that you might be needing a hand."

"Delilah sent the Champion of Kirkwall after me?" Nathaniel's eyebrows climbed his forehead, then he shook his head with a small chuckle. "She always did have a way of accomplishing things."

His gaze drifted back to Anders, and the look in his eyes was decidedly frostier than the one he had given Hawke.

"Anders," he said, his tone clipped.

_Ah, here it comes._ Anders held back yet another sigh, assuming his most unaffected expression. "Nathaniel."

"I can't say I expected to ever see you again," Nathaniel continued in the same flat tone. The unspoken end to the sentence—_after you became host to a spirit and abandoned your duty to the Wardens_—hung in the air like stale smoke.

Anders shrugged, keeping his face nonchalant. "Life is full of surprises."

"Indeed." The word was almost a growl, and then Nathaniel sighed, making an obvious effort to smooth his expression. "I…don't suppose I could speak to Justice?"

Even out of the corner of his eye, Anders could see Hawke's eyebrows shoot up. He suppressed a wince. "Doesn't work like that, I'm afraid," he said, trying to keep his tone casual. "I can't just…call him up on command."

Nathaniel's expression had regressed from a cold look to an outright glare. "Really."

"Really." Anders sighed, bringing a hand to his forehead. "Why would I lie to you? Do you think I'm particularly enjoying this conversation?"

"I wouldn't know," Nathaniel said pointedly. "I don't make a habit of speaking to abominations."

"Now wait just a minute," Anders shot back, bristling. "As I recall, it was _you_ who told Justice you would consider him no demon if he took a willing host."

To his surprise, Nathaniel's eyes clouded over, a flash of something like pain—or guilt?—crossing his face before his expression closed off entirely. Off to the side, Hawke shifted in place and cleared her throat delicately.

"I do hate to interrupt this _fascinating_ conversation," she said, "but perhaps we should head back toward the surface before another band of darkspawn decides to make us into target practice?"

"I cannot leave now," Nathaniel said instantly, cutting off Anders' hearty agreement before he could voice it. "I was separated from the rest of my party when the darkspawn attacked. The others may still live. I must find them, regardless."

"Of course," Hawke replied, shooting Anders a quick warning look. "We'd be happy to help you search for them. How many were in your party?"

"It was a fairly small band," Nathaniel said. All the anger was gone from his voice, and he appeared oddly distracted. "Several other humans, and a dwarf we brought from Vigil's Keep. And my wife, Velanna."

Anders was suddenly aware of every eye in the room training on him as he made a choking sound that, even to his own ears, sounded rather like he was swallowing his own tongue.

"_Velanna_?" he gasped when he had regained the power of speech. "You _married_ Velanna? Andraste's sword, I don't know whether to offer congratulations or condolences."

The look Nathaniel shot him hovered somewhere between "unimpressed" and "withering," while Hawke's raised eyebrows spoke clear as day: _You're going to be telling me stories later._

The journey further into the Deep Roads was interrupted by darkspawn seemingly every few moments, leaving little opportunity for conversation. Time seemed to lose its relevance, and Anders could almost swear the tunnels were growing darker, narrower, and more choked with darkspawn at every turn. His head began to throb at the taint's constant pull in his blood.

It almost came as a surprise when they rounded a corner to find two mages, one blond and one dark-haired, finishing off a band of darkspawn.

He heard Nathaniel draw a deep, ragged breath. "Velanna!"

Both mages swung around at the sound of his voice, and Anders watched naked relief cross the blond's familiar face. Nathaniel crossed the distance with quick strides to pull his wife into a brief but tight embrace.

Hawke, however, was not watching the reunion.

"Bethany?" she said, her tone surprised, hopeful, and hesitant all at once.

The other mage gave a wan smile. "Hello, sister," she said quietly.

For an instant, Hawke appeared to be struggling to find words. It occurred to Anders that it might be the first time he had ever witnessed such a thing.

"I didn't expect to see you here," she finally said, breaking eye contact and reaching up to rub the back of her neck.

Bethany gave a short, bitter laugh. "I should be the one saying that to _you_," she replied. "Sometimes it seems as though Wardens live in the Deep Roads. You're no Warden—what are you doing here?"

"We, ah, came to find him, actually." Hawke gestured to where Nathaniel and Velanna stood, talking quietly. "His sister was worried, wanted to make sure he was all right."

"Mm." Bethany looked at Nathaniel, her gaze soft and sad. "It's good to know at least _one_ of us has a concerned sister."

Hawke drew a sharp breath. "That—"

"—Wasn't fair," Bethany finished, a wince of regret flashing across her face. "I'm sorry. It's been…difficult. But I shouldn't take it out on you." She straightened, her face and body language growing lighter, though whether the change was genuine or forced, Anders couldn't tell.

"Thank you for helping him," Bethany continued, gesturing at Nathaniel. "And thank the Maker you found him alive. I—we were getting worried. And I didn't want to be alone with Velanna if we found his—if we didn't find him alive."

Hawke still appeared somewhat shaken, but she gave a quick nod, composing her features. "I'm glad to have helped," she said, and then the tiniest teasing smile entered her eyes. "It sounds like someone has a bit of a crush."

That forced a little color into Bethany's pale cheeks. "Sister! He's more than a decade older than me, not to mention _married_."

Hawke gave an exaggerated shrug, her tone a little too light. "Just making an observation."

Bethany cleared her throat, digging her toe into the dirt. "Even if I had any desire to be a homewrecker, it wouldn't matter anyway. He has eyes only for her."

"I still find that rather bizarre," Anders mumbled, watching Nathaniel and Velanna's continued conversation with a bemused gaze. At both Bethany and Hawke's raised eyebrows, he spread his hands in a shrug. "Well, they used to flirt with each other all the time—or at least, Nathaniel would flirt and Velanna would get snappish and flustered—but I never thought anything would actually come of it. I thought he just enjoyed getting a reaction out of her. And I _certainly_ never would have imagined her actually consenting to a relationship with a human." He shrugged again. "It looks like I was wrong on both counts."

"So…" Hawke's eyes narrowed in a thoughtful frown. "You obviously have some familiarity with these Wardens. What can you tell me about them? I'd like to know what sort of people I'm entrusting with my little sister's life."

Bethany gave a sigh that turned into a groan. "I'm not a child anymore, honestly."

"You just said things have been difficult for you," Hawke reminded her gently. "Anders?"

"Nathaniel and Velanna?" Anders folded his arms over his chest. "Well, as you saw earlier, Nathaniel and I don't have the friendliest relationship, but he's a decent enough sort to have at your back in a fight. Even if he is a complete grouch who broods all the time. He and Fenris would get along swimmingly, I suppose."

Bethany snorted. "No, they wouldn't. Nathaniel doesn't hate mages. And he doesn't brood that much, either! He—he's just thoughtful and stoic. There's a difference."

Hawke covered her smile with one hand. "And Velanna?"

"Also capable in a fight," Anders said. "Frighteningly capable, actually. She has this thing she does with tree roots that I couldn't even describe to you. She's a bit of a lunatic, though. Remember what I said about all the Dalish women I know being crazy? I was talking about her."

"She actually isn't that bad," Bethany said with a half-smile. "I think she's changed since you knew her. At least somewhat. She's more tolerant of humans, now."

"I'll believe that when I see it," Anders said, his tone dry. "But in all honestly, they're trustworthy. At least as much as some of the people _we_ run around with."

Hawke nodded, filing the information away, and turned to her sister. "Bethany, listen, I…"

"You don't have to apologize, really," Bethany said, her eyes softening. "This isn't the life I would have chosen, but I know you were trying to help me. And I suppose there is at least one bright side—Warden mages don't have to worry about being hunted down by templars."

Anders felt his eyebrows rise at the statement, but he held his tongue, clamping down on the automatic surge of memories and the stirrings of anger that always accompanied them.

Hawke pursed her lips, worry lines deepening on her face. "I just wish I had more reassurance that that's a good trade—safety from the templars in exchange for being a Warden for the rest of your life."

"It _is_ nice, having that weight off my mind," Bethany said. "I've spent my whole life on the run from templars, worrying about being hunted down and dragged off like an animal, and now…suddenly it's no longer a concern anymore. I think that's taken as much time to get used to as anything else."

Anders heard a grinding sound in his ear as he listened to them talk, and realized with an odd sort of detachment that it was his teeth gritting together.

"It isn't right," he ground out.

Hawke frowned at him. "What did you say, Anders?"

His head throbbed, and he felt anger beginning to constrict his chest like a fist. "It isn't _right_," he repeated. "That mages face so much oppression from the templars that even signing your life away to the _Wardens_ feels like a better option." His fists clenched, the simmering anger building up like a qunari explosive. "Do you know that if I hadn't been conscripted into the Wardens, I would have been hauled back to the Circle for the eighth time? Because by the very fact that I possessed magic I was deemed too dangerous to be allowed basic rights and freedoms?"

His fists clenched, his voice rising as flashes of blue-white light began to curl at the edges of his vision. "And you know, even being in the Wardens isn't necessarily a guarantee of freedom. When I was still with them, they sent a Warden who was an ex-templar to watch my every move. As though in spite of the fact that the Warden-Commander herself vouched for my loyalty, they still felt I had to be controlled like some kind of mongrel."

"Was that really so unreasonable?" Nathaniel's cold voice cut in, and Anders' head jerked as he looked over at the other man. "Considering that you allowed yourself to be _possessed_, the Wardens' concern doesn't seem so far-fetched, does it?"

"As oppression grows more and more intolerable, its victims will only chafe against their restraints with all the more fervor," Anders shot back hotly.

"Is that why you killed him, the former templar?" Nathaniel took a step forward, his face drawn tight with anger. "And all the other Wardens who were with him?"

As he had every time before, Anders felt the strained threads of his control snap like a frayed rope.

"I killed them because they _deserved_ it!" Vengeance roared.

The outburst lasted only a moment, the white-hot haze disappearing almost as quickly as it had come. Anders blinked, staggering backward a step, and raised a hand to his head. If his temples had throbbed before, now they were pounding.

The room was deathly quiet as everyone stared at him. Nathaniel and Velanna had dropped into defensive stances, weapons drawn. Nathaniel's free arm was extended in front of Velanna, though whether to protect her or to restrain her from rushing forward to kill him, Anders wasn't sure.

"Creators," the elf breathed, and though her voice was shaken, fury burned bright in her eyes. Nathaniel's face was ashen, while Hawke merely looked resigned.

"I knew something had gone terribly wrong," Nathaniel said, his throat constricting visibly as he swallowed hard. "I saw the bodies of the Wardens you killed. But still, to witness it firsthand…" He shook his head. "To say that wasn't the Justice I remember would be an understatement. What did you _do_ to him?"

Anders sighed. "It's a long story, but suffice to say my anger over the mages' plight somehow turned Justice into a spirit of Vengeance."

"You mean a demon." Nathaniel's voice was as harsh as the Anderfels.

"I'm sorry, Nathaniel." Anders kept his tone as even as possible. "I know you were probably the closest thing he had to a friend...before."

Nathaniel stared at him for a long moment before he gave a heavy sigh and turned away, replacing his bow across his back. "I think we're done here. Champion, I thank you again for your aid."

Hawke drew herself up from where she had been standing, observing the exchange with her typical sharp eye. "I should be the one thanking you," she replied, inclining her head. "I had wondered if I would ever see my sister again."

Anders stepped away, lingering by the room's narrow entrance to allow Hawke and Bethany privacy as they said their goodbyes. Across the way, Nathaniel refused to even glance in his direction, looking for all the world as though a thundercloud had descended over him. Velanna reached out to rest her fingers on his arm, and he covered her hand briefly with his own before turning away, his shoulders stiff with tension.

Deep in the corners of Anders' mind, he felt a stirring of something like regret rise from the spirit that had once been Justice, and then it faded away like the remnants of a half-forgotten dream.


	12. No Good Deed, part 2

**A/N:** I forgot to mention this in my last author's note, but the part in the last chapter about Anders/Justice killing a bunch of Wardens including an ex-templar (an event mentioned again in this chapter) is a reference to a short story written by Anders' DA II writer, which can be found on his character page on the official Dragon Age site. Just wanted to clarify that I didn't pull that out of thin air!

Also, this chapter requires another DA II spoiler warning, this time for major endgame spoilers.

* * *

><p>Velanna didn't often find herself in need of someone to talk to. Her fellow Wardens tended to avoid her, and the arrangement typically suited her just fine. She had little patience for the judgmental stares and snide questions of those who couldn't be bothered to try to understand her, and she'd never been particularly social in the first place—a byproduct, she supposed, of having grown up as a Keeper's First. While the other Dalish youths had run together in groups learning to hunt or craft or care for halla, she had spent long hours alone poring over dusty history volumes and honing her magical skills.<p>

Moreover, what few social needs she had tended to be more than adequately fulfilled by Nathaniel or the Warden-Commander—at least, when the latter was present at the Keep and not up to her ears in business, though such occasions seemed to grow more and more rare as the years wore on.

But when the problem _was_ Nathaniel, the drawbacks of relying on him for all interaction became starkly apparent.

Velanna's brisk steps slowed as she reached the end of the corridor and entered the Keep's throne room, lingering in the doorway with one hand on the wooden jamb. Across the room, several Wardens looked up long enough to shoot her disinterested glances before resuming their conversation. A strange pang shot through her as she watched them, the feeling no less painful for its unfamiliarity, and it took several seconds for her to identify it as loneliness.

She slipped further inside the room and pressed herself against the wall, tilting her face into the shadows and trying to picture herself in the cool dark of a canopied forest, or the tidy comfort of her own private aravel. When she opened her eyes, perhaps she would see Ilshae's stern but wise face, alight with her love of elvish lore. Or maybe Seranni, patient and steadfast where Velanna had been impulsive and quick-tempered.

She'd always been able to tell Seranni everything.

A harsh burst of laughter from the conversing Wardens broke into her imaginings, jolting her eyes open. The door opened and slammed next to her, the sudden rush of wind making her shiver.

"Enough," she hissed in a sharp whisper. Languishing in the past would do her no good. Ilshae and Seranni were dead. Her clan didn't want her any more than these Wardens did. This was her reality—this cold fortress filled with colder humans, and a husband who seemed to have forgotten she existed.

She would make the best of it. She always had.

She raised her chin and stiffened her shoulders as she stepped further into the room. If nothing else, she would always have her pride.

Her face warmed as she approached the ever-burning fire in the center of the room, the pleasant crackling helping to soothe her jangled nerves. She stood still for a moment, soaking up the warmth before lowering herself to one knee.

"Would you like to come for a walk with me?" she asked. "I could use someone to talk to, and you look rather bored just lying there."

Several feet in front of her, the Warden-Commander's mabari gave a languid stretch in front of the fire before cocking his head at her, flicking one ear in an expression of mild interest.

"Perhaps this will tempt you." She reached into her pack, lifting out a carefully wrapped leg of mutton. "I took it from the kitchen, just for you."

The dog's eyes widened, and he tilted his head up to take an appreciative sniff followed by a short, happy bark.

"That's more like it." Velanna stood, peeling back one corner of the wrapping. "Come along, and I'll give it to you once we're outside."

The mabari raised himself up on his haunches before giving a questioning whine, shooting a look toward the door leading to the study where his mistress had disappeared.

"Oh, don't worry about her." Velanna waved a hand. "You don't think she'll be out anytime soon, do you? She's been in there for hours."

The dog made a grumbling sound of agreement as he hauled himself to his feet, giving himself a brief shake before following Velanna out the door.

They walked a while before settling in a small grove near the edge of the property, one of several areas where Velanna often retreated during bouts of stress or homesickness. She pulled the mutton free from the wrapping and placed it before the dog, and he gave a cheerful _woof_ of thanks before tucking in with the slobbering relish that only a canine could muster. Velanna leaned back against a tree trunk and tried not to watch him eat, concentrating instead on the pleasant scratch of bark through her robes and the cool blades of grass under her fingers.

She supposed it was exceedingly foolish to even think about using a _dog_ for a conversation partner. She couldn't even call herself a dog person—she found most of the brutes to be noisy, smelly, annoying creatures. But the mabari, she had found, possessed an almost unnatural level of intelligence for a hound, along with an uncanny listening ability. And in her most vulnerable moments, she could admit to herself that talking to the dog brought back fond childhood memories of the liquid-eyed halla that had once patiently listened to all her hopes and fears.

If nothing else, she had learned long ago that animals would never smile to her face, then turn around and make cruel remarks about her ears or her personality or her marriage.

She sighed, pulling up an overlong blade of grass and letting it twine through her fingers as the mabari finished his snack with a final crunch of bone and a contented snuffling sound, and she smiled in spite of herself. "All done?"

In response the dog turned in a circle before settling into the grass, stretching his front paws in front of him and regarding her with a steady gaze, head cocked attentively to one side.

"All right, then." She took a deep breath, suddenly unsure of where to begin. "It's…something is wrong with Nathaniel."

The dog whined softly.

"He's not angry," she said. "I know how he acts when he's angry, and this isn't it. He's just…distant. I feel like something is bothering him terribly, but he won't tell me what it is." She paused, flattening her hand in the grass and watching the green blades spring up between her fingers. "He won't tell me much of anything. It seems as though he's hardly spoken to me at all in the past several weeks."

The hound cocked his head even further, affecting what seemed to Velanna to be a puzzled expression.

"I don't know why." She crossed her arms tight over her chest. "It's not as though I haven't asked him, but he brushes me off, says it's nothing." She snorted. "A blind infant nug could tell it's not nothing. Of course he's always been the stoic type—he doesn't go spilling everything on his mind at every moment of the day like a babbling idiot. But he doesn't usually shut me out, either."

She tilted her head back against the tree, eyes sweeping the line of leaves silhouetted against the dimming sky. "I miss him and he isn't even gone. Creators, the fact that I'm acting like such a simpering imbecile about it is making it that much worse."

The dog gave a short, matter-of-fact bark.

"I know." She sighed. "I should just sit him down and ask him again what the problem is, until he tells me. I suppose I could wait for him to tell me in his own time, but I'm beginning to suspect he'll never do that, and—" She broke off, her face twisting into a frown, and made an indignant noise in her throat. "Well, if he wanted a patient woman, he should have chosen someone else."

The words caught in her throat even as she spoke them, and she swallowed, staring down at the grass without seeing it.

She'd heard the whispers in the Keep's hallways, the gleeful predictions of her marriage's eventual flaming ruin, and knew there were those who viewed it not merely as possible, but as inevitable. Those were the comments that never failed to pierce through her defenses, causing her throat to constrict and her eyes to water, making her long for the days when she'd only been teased over her ears.

She was also keenly aware of the other female Wardens who would jump at the chance to pick up the pieces if that day ever came, the ones who shot longing glances at Nathaniel under their lashes and lapsed into hushed breathlessness whenever he entered a room. Among them was the Champion of Kirkwall's sister, who was young and beautiful and sweetly vulnerable and _human_—all things that Velanna was not.

She didn't consider herself to be insecure as a rule, but facts were facts.

Something cold and wet against her hand made her start, and she looked down to see the dog nudging her. He pushed his bulky head against her leg before resting his chin on her knee, looking up at her with soft brown eyes.

Velanna swallowed down a lump in her throat.

"Thank you." Her hand stole between his ears to give him a scratch. "You're…a very good boy. For a dog."

They sat in silence for a while until she roused herself from her melancholy, pushing off the ground. "Come, we should go back to the Keep. It's getting dark, and by now the Commander is probably wondering where you are."

Buried deep in her thoughts, she couldn't help but hope that perhaps Nathaniel had noticed her absence, too.

* * *

><p>He didn't even look up when she entered their bedroom.<p>

She swallowed down a sigh, stealing glances at him as she went about the motions of preparing for bed. He was already there, sitting up with the covers drawn to his waist, an open book in his lap.

"Engrossed in your reading, are you?" she finally asked, tugging the pins free from her hair and tossing them onto the vanity, letting the locks spill down over her shoulders.

"Mm?" He pulled his gaze from the pages, squinting up at her.

"You haven't turned a page in almost ten minutes," Velanna said.

Nathaniel blinked, then gave a rueful chuckle. "Ah."

He let the book slide closed, turning to deposit it on the stand at his bedside. Velanna climbed into the bed next to him, slipping under the sheets and leaning down to kiss his shoulder. "What are you brooding about, human?" she murmured.

She only called him "human" when she was mildly exasperated with him, the term half affectionate insult, half pet name. She saw his lips turn up at the word, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.

"I brood all the time, or so I'm told," he said, his voice deadpan.

She waited, but he said nothing more. Her lower lip caught between her teeth, and she gnawed at it for a long moment, frustration and dread building up her chest until she could scarcely breathe.

"Is there another woman?" she blurted.

"What?" His unbound hair whipped around his face as his head jerked toward her, and he gave a disbelieving huff. "Why would you even ask me that?"

"Do you even know what you've been acting like lately?" Her hands curled into fists beneath the sheets. "I feel as though I haven't seen you in weeks. You're distant and cold and you refuse to tell me what's wrong."

"Velanna…" He drew out the last syllable of her name, sighing, and leaned over to press a kiss to the pointed tip of her ear, then another to her temple. "There's no one else, I promise you. I would be a fool to ever abuse your trust—especially after all the time and effort it took to gain it."

"What, then?" She gripped his wrist. "Don't tell me it's nothing _again_, and by the Creators, please don't make me beg. I won't forgive you."

He studied her face for what seemed like an eternity before his expression shifted, and he let out a long breath.

"Do you remember our expedition to the Deep Roads, several weeks ago?" he asked.

"Of course." Velanna frowned. "The one where we ran into the Champion of Kirkwall and her companions."

"Indeed." Like clockwork, his face grew distant, and she could see him beginning to sink back into whatever dark place had gripped him for weeks. "It's her companions I've been thinking about. Specifically, Justice. And Anders."

Velanna felt a sudden chill crawl up and down her limbs, sending goosebumps prickling painfully over her skin. The image of Anders' once-carefree face twisting with rage, his eyes and skin glowing with unearthly blue light, was not one she would soon forget.

Nathaniel noticed her reaction, and reached out to brush his fingers against her arm. "It troubles you too, I see."

"Of course it does." She wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing briskly at her skin in an attempt to ward off the chill. "Spirit possession is at the forefront of any mage's thoughts. Even so, nothing can truly prepare you for seeing it happen to someone you know." Her fingers twisted and twined together, and she tilted her head to look at Nathaniel. "Is that what's been bothering you so much all this time? That Justice…possessed Anders?"

"It's not just that." His brows drew together in a pensive scowl that would likely be enough to frighten a small child. "I can't stop thinking that it—"

He broke off, and she could hear his teeth grinding.

"It's my fault," he finished, staring straight ahead.

A hush fell over the room. Velanna could hear muted voices down the hallway, the distant slamming of a door, her own heartbeat thudding in her ears.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Back when we were all traveling with the Commander," he said, "Justice and I sometimes had discussions about his options, once Kristoff's body fully…" He cleared his throat, waving a hand. "Expired."

She wrinkled her nose, remembering well the more unpleasant aspects of traveling and fighting alongside a spirit-possessed decaying corpse. "And what options were those?"

"It wasn't exactly a comfortable topic for him," Nathaniel said, lips twisting, "but he seemed to think he would just possess Kristoff's body until it was no longer possible—whenever or however that might occur. Or that he might take another corpse if necessary."

He stalled, twisting his fingers in the edge of the sheet, then let out a resigned sigh. "I was the one who gave him the idea of possessing a living body."

Velanna stared at him, aghast. "You advised a Fade spirit to possess a _person_? A living person?"

Nathaniel winced. "'Advised' isn't the correct word. I suggested it as a possibility—with the stipulation, of course, that the person were willing. Obviously I would never condone a spirit possessing anyone by force."

Velanna sat back against her pillow, turning his words over in her mind. "So…now you feel responsible for everything Justice and Anders have done since they merged? Because you were the one to plant the idea in his mind?"

"In so many words." He stared down at his lap, expression closed to her. "Granted, it isn't entirely a new concern. I first began thinking of it after I heard what Anders—and Justice—did to Rolan, that former templar, and the other Wardens with him. I tried to convince myself that perhaps there was another explanation—maybe Rolan had provoked him somehow, and things simply…got out of hand."

He scrubbed his hand over his face in a quick, agitated motion. "But after seeing him in the Deep Roads, I knew I'd been lying to myself. Even just that brief glimpse of him made it clear that Justice as we knew him is gone. I shudder to think of what other crimes he—_they_—may have committed in the years since leaving the Wardens."

"But you don't know that anything of the sort has happened," Velanna pointed out. "It's not as though we've received reports of mass murdering rampages in Kirkwall. At least, not any that haven't been attributed to other causes."

"True," Nathaniel said. "But even if he's been a model abomination ever since he left the Order, he still murdered Rolan and all those other Wardens. And I can't help but feel that their blood is at least partly on my hands."

He turned toward her at last, his face guarded. "You can see why I was reluctant to tell you this."

Velanna pressed her lips together. "Did you think I would judge you?"

He met her gaze. "Do you?"

She looked away, narrowing her eyes at a spot on the far wall as she thought.

"No," she decided. "Not that I think giving a spirit ideas about possessing living people is a particularly intelligent move," she added, giving him a wry look, "but I also don't think you should bear the responsibility for another's actions. You may have given him the idea, but he was the one who chose to act on it. Chances were equally good that he might have possessed another dead body instead. Or that, even if you hadn't given him the idea to take a living host, that someone else eventually would have."

"I've had similar thoughts." Nathaniel's face was still drawn, but pensive. "Yet I keep thinking that those are all still _what-ifs_. I _did_ give him the idea; he _did_ act on it. And he did kill all those people."

"_He_ did," Velanna said. "Not you. Are you going to blame yourself for not being able to predict the future?"

Nathaniel was silent, his eyes far away, and Velanna sighed.

"I'm terrible at this," she muttered.

He shot her a puzzled frown. "Terrible at what?"

She sat up, waving her hand in a frustrated gesture. "Being supportive and comforting."

Nathaniel laughed, and to her relief, his expression cleared.

"Actually, it feels good to get it off my chest," he said. "So thank you for providing the necessary prodding. Sometimes a good, swift kick is better than being comforted—and you do excel at those." He gave her knee a brief squeeze beneath the sheets. "But let's speak no more of it tonight. There's another matter we need to address."

She frowned, apprehension flickering in her chest. "What's that?"

He leaned forward until his lips brushed her ear, and the hand resting on her knee slid upward. "Erasing any doubts you have about my fidelity."

"_Oh_." She drew a long, tremulous breath, the fluttering in her chest turning to something else entirely. "Well, if you insist."

She felt him smile against her throat. "I do."

* * *

><p>His mood improved in the weeks that followed. Velanna could tell the questions and the guilt still lingered in his mind at times, but the bouts of dark, oppressive brooding became both shorter and less frequent.<p>

And then word reached the Keep that Kirkwall's Chantry had been destroyed, its Grand Cleric murdered, and that the Champion's spirit-possessed companion had claimed responsibility.

Velanna felt her heart drop like a stone at the news.

She found Nathaniel at the archery practice range, his jaw set tight, the target before him so riddled with holes that it was almost falling apart. The arrows ripped into the straw-stuffed head and torso and thudded into the wooden post beneath, the feathered ends quivering with the force of each shot.

"Not now, Velanna," he said as she approached, eyes still fixed straight ahead. His voice was dangerously soft.

She steeled herself, folding her arms over her chest and watching him snatch the arrows from his quiver, his movements jerking with barely controlled fury. "If you think I'm going to let you disappear into another month-long stretch of wallowing in misplaced guilt, you should think again," she retorted.

He rounded on her, his fist clenching so tight around his bow that she could swear she heard the wood creak. "He blew up a _Chantry_."

"I heard."

"Don't you see what's going to come of this?" he demanded. "Circles all over Thedas are already starting to rebel. There's going to be utter chaos."

Velanna tilted her head, remembering. "Justice did tell Anders that he should strike a blow at his oppressors."

"Exactly." Nathaniel shook his head. "This has to be the work of Justice—or whatever he is now. Can you imagine _Anders_ doing something like this? He scarcely had a serious thought in his head when he was a Warden, let alone any designs on bringing down the Chantry."

"You remember what he said in the Deep Roads, don't you?" Velanna asked. "About how his anger at the plight of mages somehow…warped Justice into something else entirely?"

Nathaniel gave a grim nod. "I created quite the monster, didn't I?"

"_No_." She took a step forward, reaching out to grip his arm. "People change. People do incomprehensible things. You have to let it go, Nathaniel."

He stared down at her hand on his arm before looking back to her face, his expression twisted in an incredulous scowl. "How can _you_ of all people talk about letting go?"

"Because I understand." She dug her fingernails into his sleeve, the fabric grinding under her palm. "I know what it feels like to let guilt eat away at you. For the longest time I felt sick to my stomach every day over my part in what happened to my clanmates who followed me into exile. And what happened to my sister. Do you think I haven't thought a thousand times that if I'd only shut my mouth and listened to Ilshae, that Seranni would still be alive right now?"

She released his arm, letting her hand drop back to her side. "Yes, I know about not letting go. And what do I have to show for it? Seranni and my clanmates are still dead. I can't go back and change what happened to them."

"But how do you deal with it?" His eyes burned into hers. "Can you just close your eyes and wish it away? Because I can't."

"No." She swallowed. "Of course nothing is ever that simple. Some things just have no easy resolutions. But I do know that trying to bury it does more harm than good. Especially for you."

He glared at her, eyes almost black under his furrowed brows. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I know you, Nathaniel," she said. "Your way of dealing with things that upset you is to latch onto them like a mabari with a bone and turn them over and over in your head and let them fester until you come upon some kind of solution. I don't want you to lose yourself to this."

She sighed and reached out to take his hand, giving it a brief, tight squeeze. "That's all I'm going to say."

Then she turned and made her way back to the Keep, the wind cold against her face. She was almost out of earshot when the steady thud of arrows against the target resumed.

* * *

><p>Darkness had long since fallen by the time the bedroom door creaked open. Velanna stirred, feeling herself pulled back from the edge of sleep, her head thick and fuzzy.<p>

"Nathaniel?" she whispered, eyelids sticking together as she blinked at the familiar dark shape silhouetted against the flickering illumination from the hallway.

The light disappeared as the door closed with a soft click, the floorboards groaning under his feet as he crossed the room and slipped into the bed behind her, arms circling her waist.

"Go back to sleep," he murmured.

She reached up with one hand, brushing over his ear, then his jawline. "Is everything all right?"

"No." He pressed his lips to the spot where her neck met her shoulder, stubble scratching against her skin. "But it's better than it was."

"Good." She let out a jaw-cracking yawn, unable to keep her eyes open. "No brooding tomorrow, then."

His chuckle was low and deep, rumbling across her skin. "I can't promise you, but…I'll try."

She wanted to respond, but the Fade was too strong, tugging her back down like an insistent child. Her last thought before she dropped back into sleep was that for now, it was good enough.

It would have to be.


	13. Shift

**A/N:** One of my favorite things to write in some of my other fandoms is fics about a pairing as seen through another character's POV. I've done that a little bit in this fic so far with Delilah and Bethany, but I thought it was about time to get the Dalish perspective.

* * *

><p>Miriel stood covered in the shadow cast by a merchant's oversized, dust-streaked awning, staring out at the bustling chaos of the marketplace.<p>

Most of her clanmates had never set foot into a human city. To say that large or even medium-sized groups of Dalish were not welcome on _shemlen_ lands would be rather like saying that wheat should not be thrown out with the chaff. But even the humans needed to trade, and some of the less arrogant ones were willing to deal with lone representatives of her people.

Those few members of her clan who had previously traveled to the human marketplaces always returned describing them as crowded and filthy and hectic, stuffed to the brim with nothing but _shems_, headaches, and dirty stares. And it was true, all of those were here in abundance. Yet as Miriel's eyes flicked back and forth from merchant stall to merchant stall, she couldn't help but think that this area of the city had its pleasant aspects as well.

She breathed in deeply, her mouth watering at the scents of freshly baked bread, chickens roasting in garlic and herbs, and little sugar-dusted tarts stuffed with varying kinds of fruit. Laughter and cheery calls to friends and acquaintances mingled with the coarser shouts, and on the other side of the street, a toddler with a head full of fiery orange curls sat with eyes wide and chubby cheeks filled with meat pie.

Miriel smiled at the little one, who gave a shy, sticky-fingered wave in return. Even the humans were adorable as children, she thought. Before they grew large and violent, with heads full of prejudice.

She sighed as her gaze moved on, scanning the wares at each stall, gauging where she might find the best prices for the supplies her clan needed. The Keeper had elected to send her to the human city today because of her attitude toward humans—guarded, but more tolerant than many in the clan. She, at least, typically thought of them as _humans_ rather than _shemlen_. The quicklings were largely ignorant of her people's language and culture, but they still knew a slur when they heard one.

It generally didn't do to insult those with whom you wished to trade. Even if their ancestors had enslaved and brutalized and murdered yours.

It helped that she wasn't the only elf in the marketplace. The others were few and far between, to be sure, and most of them were mere flat-ear servants running errands for their human masters. Still, it was a strange sort of comfort knowing that she wasn't the only one of her kind among this teeming mass of humanity. Over at the baker's stand there was a wizened male elf purchasing a parcel of cakes, across the way stood an elven woman eyeing the butcher's cuts of meat, and walking briskly down the street was another with a proud stiffness to her shoulders and a knot of blond hair atop her head.

Miriel's curious gaze lingered on the last, and she frowned, her breath catching in her throat with sudden recognition.

_It can't be_, her stubborn mind told her. _Not…Velanna? _

It was impossible, surely. For one thing, the last any of her clan had heard of their former First, she'd been running about with Grey Wardens trying to save her sister from darkspawn—a fool's errand if there ever was one—and that had been years ago.

And for another, this blond elf was walking alongside a tall, dark-haired man with rounded ears.

Miriel stood still and watched as the pair stopped before one of the stalls, engaging in a discussion she couldn't hear. The elf tilted her face up toward her companion, her lips puckered in a familiar exasperated expression, and Miriel drew a sharp breath.

It _was_ Velanna. Her face held a few more lines than Miriel remembered, but there was no mistaking the piercing, quick-darting eyes and the tightly drawn mouth.

_Creators_, Miriel thought in blank surprise. Her eyes flickered back and forth between Velanna and the human, the man's face stoic and controlled in contrast to Velanna's more animated expressions. _What is she doing here? And with one of them, no less?_

She remembered well Velanna's bristly nature, made all the more acidic by her far-reaching hatred of humans. Miriel had always found her somewhat intimidating—not only because she was the First, but also because their views on humans had been on opposite ends of the spectrum. As far as Velanna had been concerned, any elf that was sympathetic to the _shemlen_ was just as despicable as they were.

Yet here she stood, accompanied by a human in the middle of a human city, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Miriel found herself propelled forward, surprise and curiosity overcoming her flickers of apprehension, her steps silent amid the marketplace noises.

"Velanna?" she ventured as she drew near.

Their conversation ceased in an instant, and Velanna raised her head, staring hard for a long moment before her face relaxed.

"Miriel," she said, more a statement than a question, but Miriel nodded anyway.

"You remember," she said, and gave a polite but warm smile. "_Andaran atish'an, _Velanna."

"_Aneth ara,_" Velanna replied, using the more informal greeting, and Miriel let out a silent breath of relief.

"I apologize if I seem surprised to see you," Velanna continued. "I hardly expected to encounter another Dalish in a place such as this."

"I could say the same to you!" Miriel gave a small laugh. "The clan is in need of supplies, so I've come to make trade arrangements. What…what of you, Velanna? It's been years since we've had any news of you. Most of us thought you dead."

"I am well," Velanna said, though her tone was noncommittal. Her eyes darted to the human at her side, who might as well have been a statue, standing silent and watchful. "How does the clan fare, Miriel? Are you all in good health?"

Miriel shifted uneasily, trying not to stare at the rounded-eared man. It felt wrong, almost alarming, to discuss the clan's status within earshot of a human. What if he alerted others of his kind to form a hunting party and drive her people away? "We are," she said, keeping her tone carefully neutral. "A brief sickness swept through the clan this past winter, but now we are all recovered and strong."

She chanced a calculating look at the human as she finished, as though daring him to move against her people, but his expression did not change. Miriel took a deep breath, unconsciously edging away from him and toward Velanna. "The clan is actually camped not far from the city while we complete the trade agreements. Perhaps…you would like to come and visit, so that we could discuss affairs more fully?"

_In private_ was the unspoken addendum, yet if the human sensed the tension in her voice, he still did not react.

Velanna had gone still, her eyes wide and her face filled with such longing that Miriel felt a sudden pang through her heart. Velanna's lips were parted, yet for a long moment no sound came, as though she had ceased to breathe.

Then her expression closed like a dungeon's door, and she looked away.

"I…cannot," she muttered, and Miriel had to strain to hear her over the marketplace clamor. "I was exiled for a reason. I fear the clan would not welcome me."

"You were exiled because of Ilshae," Miriel pointed out. "Ilshae has been dead for years. Many of the others who were opposed to you have also passed into the beyond."

The agony returned to Velanna's face, and she clasped her hands in front of her, her fingers twining together in constant restless motions like snakes in a garden.

At her side, the human finally shifted in place. To Miriel, the motion seemed reminiscent of a stone carving coming to life and shaking off years' worth of dust. "I should leave you in private," he said, moving to take a step backward.

"Wait." Velanna's hand shot out, settling on his arm.

Miriel heard herself gasp, unable to stop the sound before it left her throat. Her eyes followed the movement of Velanna's hand, watching the way her fingers curled around the human's arm. There was a peculiar note in her voice, high and soft, and the expression in her eyes as they sought his was unmistakable.

Miriel swallowed with an effort, her mouth and throat gone dry with shock. It was too absurd to even think, yet somehow the words forced themselves out almost without her consent.

"Velanna, have you…taken a human lover?"

She waited for the other elf to deny it, to shoot down the fool notion with a scathing remark and that shrill, derisive laugh she remembered. Instead Velanna looked at her steadily, her eyes clear and unremorseful.

"Not just a lover." Her fingers tightened on the human's arm. "A husband."

The marketplace noises vanished. Miriel felt small and cold and weightless, as though the breeze would pick up and carry her away at any second. She was quite certain that a sylvan could come crashing through the marketplace right over her head, and she would not notice.

"Husband," she repeated. Her mind felt dull and uncomprehending.

A quick exchange passed between Velanna and the human, too soft for Miriel to understand, and then Velanna's fingers closed around her arm with a grip like iron, propelling her back toward what passed as the quietest corner of the market.

By the time they had passed out of the human's earshot, Miriel's tongue had loosened, the numbness disappearing.

"By all the Creators, Velanna!" It was half a hiss, half a shrill exclamation. "Have you gone completely mad?"

Velanna's look was wry. "Perhaps."

"I—I just—I don't understand. You—_you_, Velanna." She paused and tried to gather her thoughts, far-flung with astonishment. "It's not unheard of for one of our kind to take a human lover or even—even marry one, but _you_? You're the last person I would have ever expected to do such a thing. You were always the one expounding on the evils of the _shems_, and how those who didn't scorn them brought shame upon themselves. Have you forgotten? _We are the last of the Elvhenan, and never again shall we submit_."

Velanna's jaw had tightened, and her eyes flashed. "I did not _submit_. He is my husband, not my owner."

Miriel frowned. "Isn't it all the same to a human?"

"To some, undoubtedly." Velanna folded her arms. "He is different."

"You always said all humans were the same!"

"Even I can be wrong every once in a great while." Her lips twisted in a smile that was more bitter than pleasant. "These past several years have taken me in a very different direction from what I once envisioned. I have gone places, done things, and met people I never could have imagined had I stayed with the clan. I am not the same person you knew then, Miriel."

Miriel fixed her with a long, searching look. "Clearly."

Velanna's growl was audible. "You make it sound as though I've taken the entire race into my bed! I have forgotten nothing. I still know the histories and the tales of how they dragged and beat our people into submission and stole from us everything we had. I still long for the day when our people recover all that has been lost."

"Then how can you betray the Dalish like this? You of all people know how our numbers dwindle, even without our own intermarrying with humans." Miriel's eyes widened in horror even as she spoke the words. "Oh, Creators—you haven't had children with him, have you?"

If possible, Velanna's face closed off even further. "There are no children. And there never will be."

Miriel sent a short prayer of thanks to the Creators for small mercies. "I'm glad you're at least taking precautions to that effect."

"No," Velanna said coldly. "Not with him or anyone."

A strained silence fell as the implications of her words sunk in. "Oh," Miriel said, clearing her throat awkwardly. If Velanna was barren, that in itself would likely reduce her pool of available and willing elven suitors even more than her exile had. "I'm…sorry."

Velanna gave her a measured look. "It's true that I would not be with him if there were any chance of us having a child together, and he knows that. But he didn't choose me out of pity. Nor did I choose him out of desperation."

Miriel regarded her, caution circling at the back of her mind. Velanna's face was drawn, and Miriel could tell her patience was beginning to wear thin.

"Why, then?" she asked, keeping judgment out of her tone. "Help me understand."

Velanna sighed and brought her hands to her temples, rubbing at them as though that would make the questions go away. "Would it be exceedingly idiotic to mention that he loves me?"

"Love?" Miriel echoed, blinking. For the second time, her brain felt fuzzy with surprise. She opened her mouth to say that she could scarcely imagine Velanna thinking of _love_ over culture and tradition.

Memories overcame her before the words could leave her mouth. It had been years, but she could still recall the clan gossip about their strong-willed, sharp-tongued First. Some had liked her, some had despised her, others still had feared her. She could not think of many in the close-knit clan who had professed a relationship any closer than friendship.

Miriel frowned, her gaze sliding toward the other side of the street where the human stood, stoic and patient, waiting for Velanna to finish. For the first time, she was struck by a small but keen sense of irony. _The proud, human-hating elves reject and exile one of our own, yet a human accepts her. _

Perhaps it was a small wonder that Velanna had responded.

She realized her mouth was still open and ready to speak, and she cleared her throat. "I see," she said, wincing internally at the inadequate response. "That is, I…I think I am beginning to understand."

Velanna raised an eyebrow, but didn't press her further. "Good."

Miriel let out a long breath, and smiled. "Whatever paths your life has taken you, I am glad to find you well." She hesitated a moment, wetting her lips. "I should probably return to my business here, but before I go…is there anything you would like me to tell the clan? I would be happy to pass on any messages you might have."

"Actually, yes." Velanna opened the small bag at her side, drawing out a thick leather-bound book. "Here."

Miriel took the volume, turning it over carefully in her hands and letting it fall open. It was creased and well-worn, nearly all the pages filled with row upon row of neat, no-nonsense handwriting. A closer look at the contents revealed Dalish histories, stories, and lore—some so often told that she could recite them by heart, while others appeared new and unfamiliar.

"You asked if I had forgotten my heritage," Velanna said, her voice quiet. "I haven't."

Miriel swallowed, letting her fingers brush gently over the fragile pages. "Are you sure you wish to part with this? I can tell it's very important to you."

"It was never mine," Velanna replied. "It belongs to the Dalish. I have filled its pages all these years in the hopes that one day I could pass it on to my people."

"I will give it to the Keeper," Miriel said, a hesitant note entering her voice. "But…I am not sure…"

"If the clan will accept writings from an exile married to a human?" Velanna finished.

Miriel nodded, avoiding her gaze.

"I understand," Velanna said, her eyes distant. "Years ago, I wouldn't have, either. But I am still Dalish. I have come to a place where I understand that not all humans are the same. Some can be worth knowing, even loving. That does not mean I will ever cease to be Dalish. It does not mean I will ever embrace humanity as a whole, or stop grieving what our people have lost, or hoping that it might someday be restored to us." Her gaze cleared. "But I will leave the final judgment up to you, and to the rest of the clan. I have given you the stories. Only you can decide what to do with them."

Miriel closed the book and met Velanna's eyes, the corners of her mouth turning up in a tentative smile. "You truly have changed."

"It's been many years." Velanna returned the smile, though her own was tinged with sadness. "I lost my clan and my sister, and watched my friends die. I had to adapt, or perish."

She straightened, and her smile grew stronger. "_Dareth shiral_, sister. May your paths unfold straight and true before you."

Miriel inclined her head. "The same to you, Velanna."

Her fingers tightened around the book, smoothing down the cover as Velanna returned to where the human waited. He rested a hand at the small of her back, his lips moving, but Miriel was unable to make out the words.

Her eyes followed them as they left, one dark head and one blond, watching until they were swallowed up in the marketplace crowd.


	14. Calling

**A/N:** And so we come to the final chapter! This chapter takes place after another rather hefty time jump. I debated with myself about whether or not I should try to come up with more chapters to fill in some of the blank years in between, but eventually I decided not to for a couple of reasons. One, I don't want to stretch this story out _too_ far past its welcome, and two, I have a feeling BioWare is going to feature some Warden-related plots in future games, so anything major I might come up with would just end up being contradicted. Still, that doesn't rule out future Nathaniel/Velanna one-shots, if ideas strike me. I've really enjoyed writing these two.

Many many thanks to everyone who read/reviewed/faved along the way! I appreciate all the feedback tremendously.

* * *

><p>The scar was an ugly thing, stretching red and raw across Nathaniel's abdomen, the sheer length of it overshadowing all the other marks along his chest and shoulders. To Velanna's eye, it seemed as though the bedroom window's morning light lingered on it as he dressed, highlighting in grim detail just how narrowly he had escaped death's clutches. The movement of the muscles beneath it made it coil and almost <em>slither<em>, like one of the poisonous jasper-colored forest snakes the clan elders had warned her about as a child.

She pushed herself up on her side, leaning on one elbow and pulling the sheet up around her waist. For years, it had been her habit to rise well before either the sun or Nathaniel woke, and take her morning meal outdoors in a little glade where she could be assured of absolute solitude, peace and quiet. But as of late, it had become harder to force herself awake in pre-dawn blackness, and she had begun to find herself lingering longer and longer in the warm nest of pillows, blankets, and tangled limbs. Nathaniel had made no comment on the sudden change, but he seemed to enjoy waking up to her rather than to her side of the bed, empty and neatly made.

And most mornings, she rather liked lying abed and watching him dress. Most mornings, when her thoughts weren't troubled and her eyes not drawn to the scar like a moth to flame.

Nathaniel had stopped in the middle of the room, his trousers buckled and his chest still bare, a frown on his face. "Velanna, have you seen my dark green shirt?"

She waved a hand at the dresser behind him. "It's in the second drawer, with all your other shirts."

His frown deepened. "No, it isn't. I already looked."

"You're going blind in your old age, then." She tried to smirk at him, but the unease still hovered at the back of her mind, and she had a feeling the expression came out as more of a grimace instead. Throwing back the sheet, she clambered out of bed and rummaged in the drawer, pulling out the shirt after a moment's search.

"Here." She stepped forward to hand it to him. Almost of its own accord, her hand lingered over his scar, fingers reaching down to gently trace its path.

Nathaniel stilled, his eyes moving back and forth between her hand and her face. "What is it?"

"I was just remembering when you got this," she said. Even years later, the knit-together flesh was still rough under her fingers. "You nearly died and I wasn't here."

His hair, still unbraided, swung around his face as he tilted his head. "That didn't happen."

"But it could have. Any day could be our last, especially…" She didn't finish. The Calling would be on them soon, she knew. Nathaniel would hear it first, since he'd taken his Joining just prior to hers, but she would follow not far behind. Even now, she sometimes felt dark whispers curl in her wandering mind after she dropped into sleep.

Nathaniel's hand closed around hers, lifting it away from the scar, and he pressed a quick kiss to her knuckles before releasing her hand to pull the shirt over his head. "Many Wardens die long before they ever reach their Calling. We've been some of the lucky ones, you and I."

"I know, but I've been _thinking_," she said, and something in her voice made him pause, brows furrowing as he watched her.

"Do you ever think about what will come after all this?" she continued, gesturing at nothing in particular. "After we die, whether that be today or tomorrow or years from now? My people believe that the dead pass into the great beyond to live on forever, while you believe that those faithful to your religion spend eternity at your Maker's side." She looked away, chewing on her lower lip. "As the Calling draws nearer for both of us, I think of the afterlife more and more. I long to see my sister again, and my parents, and even Ilshae. But…" Her eyes darted to his, bearing the expression of mingled resignation and grudging affection that crossed her face whenever she was about to say something sweet. "I would miss you, if I had to spend eternity without you."

Nathaniel said nothing, merely studied her face for a moment before he reached out to pull her into his arms. Velanna allowed herself to be drawn in, pressing her cheek to his tunic and letting out a sigh. It wasn't all that long ago that she'd hated the feeling of being held, finding the weight of another's arms around her confining and smothering. Yet over the years she had slowly come to realize it was not always an insult to her pride to accept another's support.

"I probably won't even go to the Maker's side," Nathaniel said after a moment, his chest vibrating beneath her. His fingers combed absently through her unbound hair. "It's said that only the most devout may spend eternity with Him. I believe in the Maker, but—well, you know I have little time or inclination to attend all the sermons, say all the prayers, or give all the offerings. I suppose that means I'll be sent to wander the Fade forever."

She pulled back enough to look up at him, frowning. "That is hardly a comforting thought."

"Indeed." A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "However, if you would like to wander with me, there's still time for you to convert to worship of the Maker."

The look she shot him might have been scathing enough to stop a charging ogre in its tracks, and he chuckled before sobering. "But in all honesty, I have lived my life as best I could in the circumstances I was given. I went down many paths I would not have chosen, but I did what I could to make the best of them. Death will be just another of those paths."

He looked down at her, his expression thoughtful. "And one thing I do know is that whatever time I have left, I don't want to spend it worrying about what may be."

Velanna snorted. "You make it sound so simple."

"If you ever need help taking your mind off it, I'm sure I can find methods to distract you." He slanted a smile at her. "And besides, you shouldn't worry about spending eternity without me. I can be quite stealthy when I choose—I might just find a way into your great beyond whether I'm supposed to be there or not."

"Blasphemer," she shot back at him, but she couldn't suppress the smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes.

* * *

><p>Nathaniel's nightmares began several months later.<p>

He jerked awake the first night, panting and sweating, the movement so sharp and sudden that for a moment Velanna's sleep-hazed mind wondered if they were being attacked.

She pushed herself half-upright, her heart crashing against her ribs, eyes straining to adjust in the dark. She felt sick and shaken, jolted from a deep sleep, and the walls of her throat seemed to stick together. "Nathaniel?" she managed, squinting at the curved outline of his back hunching in front of her.

"Light the torch," he ground out. His voice was hoarse and unsteady.

As soon as the lamp was lit and she caught sight of his face, she knew.

She sank back down on the bed, nerveless hands falling in her lap. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Finally Nathaniel scrubbed a hand over his face, gaunt in the dim light. "I'll have to send a message to the Commander, I suppose," he said. "And—and one to Delilah. No specifics, but she deserves to know I'm…gone."

"Add my name to the letter you send to the Commander," Velanna said, her voice quiet.

Nathaniel turned to look at her. His eyes were bloodshot, circled by dark shadows. "Velanna, are you…are you absolutely certain? You could have another month, perhaps two."

She scowled at him. "A month or two of borrowed time, spending every night tossing and turning alone and wondering when my nightmares will come? No. If you think I'm letting you charge off into the Deep Roads without me, you're a bigger fool than I ever imagined."

He gave a wan smile and gripped her hand, squeezing it tightly, and she could see the relief in his eyes.

* * *

><p>The Deep Roads were much the same as they had always been, yet somehow different all at once. The dusty tunnels and paths stretched and twisted as they had for centuries, but the knowledge that one would never again look up and see sky seemed to make the darkness close in, pressing on all sides.<p>

Nathaniel paused at the entrance to a tunnel, wiping his sleeve across his forehead. They had been wandering for days—at least, he supposed it must have been days, though time quickly lost its relevance when the sun and moon no longer governed their waking and sleeping. He had long since lost count of the number of darkspawn they had felled since their descent into the deep, side by side.

Velanna stood just ahead, silhouetted against a meager shaft of pale light that had managed to penetrate through a crack in the stone and soil above their heads. She was staring upward, as though trying to imagine how many people might be walking above them at that very moment, going about their business, never knowing of the two Grey Wardens carrying out one final mission beneath their feet.

He watched his wife, letting his gaze slowly sweep her from head to toe. Her slender form had grown tough and wiry with the passing of time, the proud tension never leaving her—even now, despite the heaviness of exhaustion stealing over her, the dirt caking her, and the matted tangles in her hair.

All at once, he couldn't help but wonder about the many Wardens who had embarked on their Callings alone, with no one to fight alongside them in battle, no one to help them chase off the inevitable stabs of fear and loneliness. He wondered if any of them had gone mad from the taint and the darkness before the darkspawn had taken them.

Velanna turned toward him, a hand coming to rest on her hip. "Why are you just standing there?"

He looked to her face, familiar to him as his own. He took in her furrowed brows, her sharp eyes and sharper cheekbones, gaunt now with age, hunger, and a lifetime of combat.

"I love you," he said. He had spoken the words too rarely over the years, preferring to let his actions communicate louder than his tongue. But now the time for words and deeds alike was growing shorter with every passing second.

Emotion flickered across her face, brief but intense, and she went to him and took his hand.

"Come on," she said, her touch cool against the warmth of his palm. "We're not dead yet."

Hours passed. They sustained themselves with small mouthfuls of water from their skins, somehow finding fresh bursts of energy when they came across small bands of darkspawn. His bow sang in tune with her staff, genlocks and hurlocks and shrieks falling before their arrows and spells.

Eventually they found themselves in a medium-sized room, lined on one side with hulking statues of dwarven figures. Velanna leaned her staff against a stony knee, reaching up to wipe blood from her face.

Nathaniel had barely finished scanning the room when the taint surged in his blood, and the faint clanging of armored footsteps reached his ears, echoing up through the connecting tunnel.

Velanna's bony fingers grasped at his sleeve. "Listen."

She had heard it as well: even at a distance, it was clear the sounds were of a sizable horde marching toward them, a force far too large for two tired, tainted Grey Wardens to harbor any hope of survival.

Mingled resignation and relief swept through him in a dull ache, and he met her eyes. "I think this is it."

For a moment, her expression mirrored his, defiance and acceptance warring in her gaze. Then both gave way to resolve as she turned, her hands blurring in the dim illumination as she reached into her tattered bag. Nathaniel glimpsed the dull glint of light on metal.

She grasped his hand and pressed the dagger into it, curling his fingers around the cool leather hilt. "Then we have little time."

He stared down at the slender blade, the bitter weight of finality suddenly crushing the air from his lungs. "Velanna—"

His voice was so thick that he hardly recognized it, and she silenced him with a hand on his cheek, stubble bristling under her fingers. "We talked about this," she said, her voice hushed but firm.

Nathaniel closed his eyes, and images of bulbous, writhing broodmothers leaped to his mind. Bile rose in his throat, and a cold sweat broke out beneath his collar.

"Velanna," he tried again, this time in a hoarse whisper, yet still no further words came. His mind balked at the unyielding necessity set before him, grasping and scrabbling for any hint of an alternative.

He felt her arms wind around his shoulders, her fingers reaching up to the back of his head and pulling him down until his forehead met hers.

"_Ma'arlath,_" she whispered. "I will look for you in the beyond…just in case." She pulled back a fraction, looking up into his eyes, and a ghost of her usual sardonic smile crossed her face. "Don't leave me waiting too long, human."

"I won't." He swallowed thickly, trying to say more, but the words caught in his throat. His eyes were damp. One of Velanna's hands slid around to his cheek, the other twining in his hair.

Then he was kissing her, long and raw and deep, trying in one moment to make up for all the Joining's stolen years. When she pulled back at last, her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes glittered like veins of lyrium.

Her hands slipped to his shoulders, and she let out a long breath, meeting his eyes and giving a tiny nod.

She made no sound but a small gasp when the blade entered her heart, her body jerking in his arms, fingers digging into his shoulders. Nathaniel watched her face spasm, then relax, the muscles slackening. She gave a little sigh, and her eyes locked on his in one final, fleeting moment of bright clarity.

He lowered himself to his knees and let her slip down in his arms, gathering her against his chest and pressing his face into her hair.

He still knelt there, cradling her body when the darkspawn snarls grew louder, footsteps clanking up the tunnel and beginning to fill the room behind him. He gently lowered Velanna to the ground, one hand supporting her head, and he reached out with the other to brush her eyes closed.

Then he rose, taking up his bow and reaching back into his quiver as he turned to face the darkspawn. He drew back the string, aimed into the massing horde, and let the arrow fly.


End file.
